PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

OF 

THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM. 


Personal  Eemint0cence0 


OF 


JOkars  of  Journalism, 


BY 

FRANC  B.  WILKIE 

("POUUTo'") 


CHICAGO: 
F.  J.  SCHUI/TE  &  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS, 


298  DEARBORN  STREET. 


COPYRIGHT,  1891, 
BY  FRANCIS  J.  SCHULTE. 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER. 


PAGE. 


I.     First  View  of  an  Editor 7 

II.     How  I  Came  to  Enter  the  Profession 10 

III.  A  Full-fledged  Editor 13 

IV.  Union  College  and  its  Notabilities 1 6 

V.     Toward  the  Setting  Sun 21 

VI.     Rainbows  in  the  Sky 24 

VII.     Clouds  follow  the  Rainbows 27 

VIII.     Struck  by  a  Cyclone 31 

IX.  The  Wreck  of  Matter  and  Crash  of  Worlds...  34 

X.     A  Model  Western  Town 38 

XI.     A  Change  of  Base 43 

XII.     Traveling  with  a  Panorama 48 

XIII.  Once  More  in -the  Depths 52 

XIV.  How  I  Amused  Myself. 56 

XV.     Led  into  Temptation 58 

XVI.     Another  Change  of  Base 66 

XVII.     A  Gleam  of  Sunshine 74 

XVIII.     Experiences  in  Dubuque 78 

XIX.     Mahony  and  the  Bastile 86 

XX.     Man  Proposes  —  Fate  Disposes 92 

XXI.     Summary  of  the  Life  of  Storey 97 

XXII.     Storey's  Alleged  Brutality 103 

XXIII.  Getting  Broken  to  Harness 109 

XXIV.  Jealousy  and  Hatred  of  Storey 114 

XXV.     Mr.  Storey  as  a  Worker 118 


t/t  rr-i 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

XXVI.     A  Mysterious  Falling-off. 124 

XXVII.     An  Audacious  Editor 130 

XXVIII.     The  Social  Character  of  the  Editor 140 

XXIX.     Jekyll  and  Hyde 147 

XXX.     His  Penuriousness 152 

XXXI.     Mr.  Storey  as  a  Writer 157 

XXXII.     The  Newspaper  Men  of  Chicago 161 

XXXIII.  Newspaper  Men  of  Chicago  —  Continued...  169 

XXXIV.  Newspaper  Men  of  Chicago — Continued...   174 
XXXV.     The  Newspaper  Roll  Continued 1 79 

XXXVI.     More  Chicago  Journalists 184 

fart  SStcairir. 

I.     The  Work  of  Reconstruction 191 

II.     Building  Operations 197 

III.  Cumulative  Blows 202 

IV.  Storey's   Spiritualism 209 

V.     Visit  to  a  Paris  Newspaper 218 

VI.     A  Case  of  Treachery.  —  Libel  Suits 229 

VII.     The  Alice  Early  Libel  Suit 237 

VIII.     The  Russo-Turkish  War 242 

IX.  The  Russo-Turkish  War  and  Irish  Politics.  251 

X.     Mr.  Storey  Visits  Europe 256 

XI.  Storey's  * (  Mausoleum. '  —Making  His  Will  268 

XII.     Wanderings  in  Indian  Territory 275 

XIII.     Employment  of  Women 286 

fart  QHjtrtr. 

I.     Another  Trip  Abroad 291 

II.     A  Financial  Collapse 301 

III.  Storey's  Other  Spirit 309 

IV.  Changes  of  a  Generation 315 


PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 
OF 

THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM. 


i. 

FIRST  VIKW  OF  AN  EDITOR. 

THE  first  editor,  printing-office,  and  other  attachments  of 
a  newspaper  which  I  ever  saw  were  in  Schenectady,  New 
York,  in  1854.  They  were  all  a  revelation  as  stunning,  as 
novel  as  the  first  view  of  Niagara  Falls  to  an  appreciative 
stranger,  or  the  art  galleries  of  the  Louvre  to  an  enthusiastic 
visitor. 

The  newspaper  was  the  Evening  Star,  then  lately  started 
in  that  ancient  city,  and  was  the  initial  daily  pioneer.  It  was 
located  on  the  second  floor  of  a  building  between  the  canal 
and  the  railway,  on  State  Street. 

An  ardent  curiosity  possessed  me  to  inspect  the  mysteries 
of  a  newspaper.  Born  far  up  in  the  hill  region,  I  knew  but 
little  of  the  civilization  of  cities,  and  had  come  to  the  town 
to  take  a  course  in  its  college,  with  the  hayseed  still  in 
my  hair  and  with  the  aroma  of  the  barnyard  scarcely 
removed  from  my  boots.  I  waited  for  no  invitation  to  visit  the 

7 


8  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

Star  office,  but,  with  the  innocent  audacity  of  the  average 
country  bumpkin,  I,  self-invited,  climbed  the  narrow  stair- 
way, and  entered  an  open  door  which  led  into  a  small  and 
very  dirty  room. 

There  was  fresh  tobacco-juice,  and  stains  of  ancient  leech- 
ings  of  the  quid  all  over  the  floor.  The  window-panes  were 
obscured  with  dust.  There  was  a  long  table  across  one  end 
of  the  room  which  was  littered  with  newspapers,  agricult- 
ural and  Patent  Office  reports,  and  piles  of  pamphlets. 

At  a  smaller  table,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  was 
seated  a  man  leaning  over  some  printed  slips.  I  had  a 
quarter  view  of  his  countenance  and  figure.  His  legs  were 
of  enormous  length  and  were  coiled  all  around  and  under  his 
chair.  The  portion  of  his  face  that  I  could  see  was  deeply 
pitted  from  small-pox.  He  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves;  he  had 
no  collar  or  cuffs,  but  wore  on  the  back  of  his  head  a 
towering  ' '  stove-pipe  ' '  hat,  white,  with  a  woolly  surface. 

The  small  table  was  occupied  to  its  utmost  capacity. 
There  were  a  paste-pot  and  brush,  a  pair  of  scissors,  an  ink- 
bottle,  several  newspapers,  dozens  of  letters,  some  torn  and 
dirty,  some  manuscripts  open  and  folded.  Before  him  lay 
some  long,  narrow  pieces  of  white  paper,  printed  on  one  side, 
leaving  a  small  margin,  on  which  he  appeared  to  be  making 
hieroglyphics  with  a  lead-pencil. 

It  was  with  awe  that  I  felt  myself  in  the  presence  of  that 
potent  magnate,  an  Editor  I 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder,  said  * '  How  do  you  do  ?  " 
rose  to  his  feet  and  faced  about,  towering  with  his  tall  hat  to 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  9 

the  altitude  of  a  pine  tree.  His  face  was  regular,  his  expres- 
sion good-natured,  his  eyes  a  pleasant,  penetrating  blue,  his 
mouth  wide,  and  his  lips  touched  with  smiles.  He  was 
thin,  which  exaggerated  the  effect  of  his  great  height. 

Such  the  appearance  of  the  first  of  the  many  hundreds  I 
have  encountered  since  in  the  editorial  profession.  His 
name  was  Colborne  —  an  Englishman  by  descent,  a  printer 
by  trade,  and  editor  and  publisher  by  profession. 

' '  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  low,  pleasant 
voice. 

I  explained  that  I  was  from  the  country,  and  had  an 
intense  desire  to  look  through  a  newspaper  establishment. 

"Oh,  is  that  it?  All  right.  Bob  1 "  he  called  through 
the  door  leading  into  another  room;  "here,  show  this  young 
man  through  the  office. " 

Bob  was  the  initial  specimen  of  my  view  of  printers'  devils. 
His  hands,  face,  clothing  were  disguised  in  ink;  he  wore  a 
calico  shirt,  and  a  pair  of  ragged  trousers,  suspended  from 
his  shoulders  by  a  tow  string. 

I  will  not  stop  to  give  the  details  I  saw  in  the  composing- 
room.  I  may  say  that  all  were  novelties,  and  that  the 
feature  which  most  excited  my  admiration  and  surprise  was 
the  distribution  of  the  type  into  the  small  boxes  in  which 
each  piece  belonged.  The  printer,  taking  a  line  of  type  in 
his  right  hand,  would  distribute  them  among  scores  of  these 
little  compartments,  his  fingers  flying  like  lightning  all  over 
the  ' '  case, ' '  never  making  an  error,  and,  apparently,  much 
of  the  time  looking  somewhere  else. 


II. 

HOW  I  CAME  TO   ENTER  THE  PROFESSION. 

AT  that  period  I  was  in  possession  of  the  sentimentality, 
common  to  youth,  which  finds  utterance  in  rhythmical  lines 
characterized  by  being  headed  with  capital  letters.  I  sent 
several  of  these  products  to  the  Star  over  the  signature  of 
' '  Freshman, ' '  and  was  astonished  one  morning  to  find  at  the 
top  of  the  editorial  column  a  request  for  the  writer  of  the 
'  *  Freshman  "  articles  to  call  at  the  Star  office. 

With  a  throbbing  heart  and  my  brain  whirling  with  antici- 
pation, I  climbed  the  stairway  of  the  Star  and  found  myself 
in  the  presence  of  the  pock-marked  giant  with  the  tall, 
woolly  hat. 

*  'Are  you  the  editor  ?  "  I  asked  in  a  shaking  voice. 

' '  Yes, ' '  he  replied,  with  a  genial  smile,  as  he  looked  up 
from  his  work.  ' '  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  " 

I  handed  him  the  slip  from  the  Star,  and  said  :  "I  called 
in  response  to  this." 

"Are  you  '  Freshman '  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

He  rose,  offered  his  hand,  shook  mine  cordially :  "Sit 
down  ;  I  wish  to  talk  with  you." 

He  then  asked  me  some  questions  about  my  life,  residence, 

10 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  n 

how  much  I  had  written,  what  had  been  my  course  of  read- 
ing, what  I  was  doing,  and  then  continued  : 

* '  The  Evening  Star  has  lately  been  started,  and  is  yet  an 
experiment,  although,  I  believe,  with  excellent  prospects  of 
success.  My  time  is  so  much  taken  up  with  the  practical 
details  that  I  can  no't  give  the  literary  department  much 
attention.  What  I  want  is  to  secure  somebody  to  take  the 
department  off  my  hands.  It  is  for  that  purpose  that  I 
inserted  the  request  for  '  Freshman '  to  come  to  the  office.'* 

I  was  thunder-struck,  and  tried  to  say  something,  but 
could  only  stutter  incoherently. 

' '  Now,  what  I  wish  is  that  you  should  take  the  place. 
Can  you  do  it  ?  " 

I  found  breath  finally  to  say  that  I  would  be  very  glad  to 
undertake  the  work,  but  had  no  experience,  and,  besides,  I 
had  to  carry  on  my  studies  in  college. 

"  Try  it.  It  won't  take  much  of  your  time  from  your 
studies  ;  you  need  only  add  a  couple  of  hours  a  day  to  your 
labors." 

II  Well,"  I  said,  after  a  few  moments'  thought ;  "  I  will 
try  it  for  a  while,  but  I'm  afraid  I  won't  be  able  to  give 
satisfaction." 

"All  right;  I'll  chance  your  failure.  At  present  what 
I  most  need  is  editorial  matter.  As  to  compensation,  we 
are  just  starting,  and  are  not  yet  on  a  paying  basis,  so  I 
can't  offer  much  salary." 

I  was  quick  to  assure  him  that  salary  cut  no  figure,  at 
least  for  the  present. 


12  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  money  did  cut  a  very  important  part 
in  my  affairs.  I  was  distressingly  poor.  I  had  earned 
enough,  by  teaching  school  in  winter  and  performing 
mechanical  work  in  summer,  to  fit  myself  for  college,  and 
had  earned  sufficient  to  pay  my  board  three  months  in 
advance  by  building  a  barn  for  a  farmer  near  the  city.  The 
three  months  had  about  expired  at  the  time  when  I  was 
sent  for  by  Colborne,  and  I  had  no  immediate  prospect  of 
further  income  till  I  could  teach  school  another  winter. 

Hence,  despite  my  apparent  indifference  to  the  matter  of 
salary,  it  was  really  of  vital  interest. 

"I'll  pay  you,  at  the  start,  four  dollars  a  week,"  he  said. 
"  It's  so  small  an  amount  that  I'm  ashamed  to  offer  it." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  Money  is  of  no  account,"  I 
replied,  with  supreme  indifference. 

In  truth,  the  amount  named,  ridiculously  small  as  it  now 
seems,  suffused  my  soul  with  a  joy  and  satisfaction  which, 
for  the  moment,  almost  suffocated  me.  I  had  just  engaged 
board  at  two  dollars  a  week,  with  no  possible  prospect  of 
meeting  the  payment  until  I  had  taught  another  term  of  a 
country  school. 

Four  dollars  a  week  1  It  was  unbounded  wealth.  I  have 
never  since,  in  the  matter  of  wages,  found  any  offer  a 
thousandth  part  as  inspiring  and  satisfactory  as  this  munifi- 
cent offer  of  the  princely  Colborne.  It  was  as  unexpected 
and  welcome  as  the  discovery  by  Wolfe  of  the  pathway 
which  led  to  the  heights  of  the  plain  of  Abraham,  Mont- 
calm,  and  victory. 


III. 

A  FULL-FLEDGED  EDITOR. 

Star  had  no  especial  political  affiliations,  being  neu- 
tral and  independent.  It  was  a  folio  of  six  columns,  and 
mechanically  handsome,  for  Colborne  was  an  artist  in 
typography. 

The  literary  department  was  turned  over  to  me,  and  I 
handled  it  without  interference,  and  with  a  bare  suggestion 
now  and  then  from  the  chief. 

I  wrote  ponderous  essays,  comments  on  local  affairs, 
handled  dog-fights,  was  insolent,  flippant,  argumentative, 
sentimental,  impertinent,  pessimistic,  or  the  reverse,  as  the 
mood  possessed  me. 

There  was  little  order  in  the  make-up  of  the  editorial 
page.  The  leader  might  be  an  erotic  article  in  verse,  fol- 
lowed by  a  fierce  assault  on  the  mismanagement  of  the  rail- 
way for  running  over  one  of  the  cows  that  wandered  at  will 
in  the  ancient  town,  or  sage  suggestions  to  the  reverend 
principal  of  the  college,  Dr.  Nott. 

' '  Everything  went. ' '  The  estimate  placed  on  my  work 
may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that,  at  the  end  of  the  first 
month,  my  salary  was  raised  to  eight  dollars,  an  addition 
of  one  hundred  per  cent. 

13 


14  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

I  became  ambitious.  I  learned,  at  odd  spells,  to  ' '  set 
type,"  to  "make  up  the  forms,"  and  in  other  directions  to 
secure  a  fair  knowledge  of  the  practical  workings  of  a 
printing-establishment. 

I  carried  on  my  studies  and  recitations,  and  found  time 
to  start  a  literary  weekly,  the  most  of  whose  original  mat- 
ter, including  a  long  serial  story,  was  never  written,  but 
composed  as  I  set  it  up  at  the  case. 

One  of  its  features  was  a  page  of  musical  composition, 
the  words  being  furnished  by  some  one  of  my  literary 
acquaintances.  I  purchased  a  font  of  type  for  musical 
notation  and  learned  to  use  and  "  set  up  "  the  matter  with 
my  own  hands.  It  may  be  readily  seen  that,  in  editing  the 
Star,  learning  the  printing  business,  keeping  up  my  college 
studies,  and  issuing  the  literary  venture,  I  was  a  busy 
youth. 

The  great  New  York  Central  honored  me  with  an  annual 
pass,  by  whose  agency  I  saw  much  of  the  country  and  cities 
along  that  line  of  railway.  It  was  an  era  when  passes  were 
as  common  as  air.  Traveling  to  the  terminus  of  the  Cen- 
tral, I  would  call  on  the  superintendent  of  a  connecting 
road,  show  him  the  annual  pass  of  the  Central,  and  say  : 

' '  I  am  the  editor  of  the  Evening  Star,  of  Schenectady , 
and  I  would  like  to  look  over  the  country  reached  by  your 
road.  I  shall  write  some  letters  as  things  of  interest  pre- 
sent themselves." 

"Certainly!  Glad  to  accommodate  you.  There  you 
are!  Good  day." 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  15 

The  official  of  the  next  road  was  shown  the  two  passes 
and  exhibited  the  same  compliance.  I  traveled  over  many 
of  the  railways  in  New  York,  Michigan,  Illinois  and  Iowa, 
and  in  no  instance  met  with  a  refusal. 


IV. 

UNION  COU,EGE  AND  ITS  NOTABIUTIKS. 

UNION  Cou,EGK,  at  that  period,  was  in  its  prime.  The 
famous  Kliphalet  Nott  was  president ;  I^aurens  Hickok, 
vice-president ;  after  whom  came  a  galaxy  of  genius  and 
scholarship:  Taylor  Lewis,  KHas  Peissner,  "  Captain  Jack" 
Foster,  Prof.  Newman,  and  others  who  had  no  superiors  in 
any  other  college  faculty  on  the  continent. 

A  prominent  figure  was  Mrs.  Urania  Nott,  the  'wife  of 
the  president,  and  exercised  as  much  influence  in  the  man- 
agement of  college  affairs.  She  was  many  years  the  junior 
of  her  venerable  husband,  and  her  tall  figure,  raven  hair 
and  flashing  black  eyes  made  an  admirable  contrast  to  the 
stooping  form  and  white  locks  of  the  Doctor. 

She  had  a  voice  in  the  counsels  of  the  faculty  ;  she  was 
an  essential  factor  in  the  numerous  business  enterprises  of 
her  husband  —  for  he  was  a  shrewd,  practical  man  outside 
of  educational  matters,  and  made  much  money  in  outside 
operations. 

Urania  Nott  was  his  Mentor,  his  staff,  his  inspiration. 
She  knew  every  student ;  was  their  friend,  their  nurse, 
their  sympathizer,  and  a  mother. 

A  curious  sight  to  the  new  student  was  the  white-haired 

16 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM. 


president  and  the  stately  and  juvenile. wife  riding  about  the 
streets  of  the  old  city  in  a  three-wheeled  vehicle,  drawn  by 
a  sober  white  horse  which  had  all  the  dignity  of  its  driver. 

Many  of  the  students  had  fine  literary  ability,  and  con- 
tributed liberally  to  my  weekly  publication,  in  both  prose 
and  rhyme.  One  of  these  was  Egbert  Phelps,  who,  during 
the  war,  served  as  a  captain  in  the  regular  army,  and  who 
has  for  many  years  been  a  resident  of  Joliet,  engaged  in 
the  successful  practice  of  the  law. 

Another  one  of  my  contributors,  Fitz-Hugh  L,udlow, 
became  afterwards  very  famous  on  account  of  his  genius  and 
his  misfortunes.  One  of  the  poems  which  he  wrote  for  the 
New  Era,  as  my  publication  was  entitled,  was  "The  Hymn 
of  the  Soul  of  Man,"  and  which,  although  appearing  in  his 
later  works,  was  originally  prepared  for  my  journal,  and  on 
my  personal  solicitation.  It  is  so  fine  an  effort  that  I  repro- 
duce it  in  full : 


"We  are  not  things  of  yesterday: 

Our  souls'  ancestral  rivers  run 
From  fountains  of  antiquity 

That  gushed  ere  God  lit  up  the  sun. 
Across  the  solitudes  of  Time, 

No  more  by  mortal  footsteps  trod, 
Where  the  dead  nations  sleep  sublime, 

Come  whispers  of  our  source  in  God. 

"  The  slumber  of  Humanity 

Is  ever  vexed  by  mighty  dreams: 
She  smiles  or  shudders  ceaselessly, 
According  as  the  vision  seems; 


i8  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

For,  ever  mingling  in  her  sleep, 

Are  glorious  temples  broken  down, 
And  gulfs,  across  whose  awful  deep 

She  grasps  at  a  primeval  crown. 

"  And  here  and  there  among  the  years 

Some  giant  prophet  lifts  his  hands, 
And  pours  his  burden  in  her  ears, 

As  Furus  sweeps  the  ocean  sands. 
Such  was  the  voice  that  shook  the  world 

From  out  Academia's  trees, 
And  such  the  lightning  that  was  hurled 

From  thy  blind  eyes,  Maconides  ! 

"Unconscious  prophets  though  they  be, 

Seers  meaning  more  than  they  have  known, 
And  dreaming  not  that  Deity 

Was  speaking  through  them  from  His  throne, 
Their  word  shall  like  the  sea-waves  roll, 

Their  burning  thoughts  shall  never  die, 
Till  man  awakes  his  sleeping  soul, 

To  know  its  immortality. 

"Arise  to  deeds  of  great  intent, 

O  man  !  and  with  thy  valiant  hands 
Rear  heaven-high  a  monument 

Whose  shadow  shall  reach  other  lands. 
The  glories  of  a  noble  strife 

Survive  the  pulses  of  endeavor, 
The  echoes  of  a  mighty  life 

Ring  through  Time's  corridors  forever." 

Ludlow  immortalized  himself,  at  least  among  the  alumni 
of  Union  College,  by  his  "Song  to  Old  Union,"  which  is 
since  always  sung  at  the  annual  commencement  exercises, 
and  at  the  various  alumni  banquets  held  throughout  the 
country. 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  19 

There  are  three  eight-line  verses,  and  a  chorus.  The  first 
verse  will  afford  an  idea  of  the  qualities  of  the  song,  espe- 
cially its  exquisite  smoothness  : 

"  Let  the  Grecian  dream  of  his  sacred  stream, 

And  sing  of  the  brave  adorning 
That  Phoebus  weaves  from  his  laurel  leaves 

At  the  golden  gate  of  the  morning: 
But  the  brook  that  bounds  through  the  Union's  grounds 

Gleams  bright  as  the  Delphic  water, 
And  a  prize  as  fair  as  a  god  may  wear 

Is  a  dip  from  our  Alma  Mater. 

CHORUS : 
"  Then  here's  to  thee,  the  brave  and  free, 

Old  Union  smiling  o'er  us, 
And  for  many  a  day,  as  thy  walls  grow  gray, 

May  they  ring  with  thy  children's  chorus." 

Ludlow,  at  that  period,  was  about  twenty  years  of  age, 
slender,  of  medium  height,  light  as  to  eyes,  hair  and  com- 
plexion. He  was  regarded  as  somewhat  ' '  queer ' '  by  the 
other  students,  among  whom  he  was  not  very  popular. 

He  was  reticent,  and  hilarious  and  talkative  at  intervals  ; 
he  was  a  confirmed  punster.  He  came  into  a  room,  one  day, 
where  some  students  were  chatting.  He  carried  a  stiff  silk 
hat  in  one  hand  and  smoothed  its  nap  with  the  other. 

"Say,  fellows,  what  kind  of  a  hat  is  this  ?  "  he  asked. 

Beaver,  silk  and  other  materials  were  mentioned. 

* '  Wrong,  all  of  you.  Don't  you  see  \\?§felt  ?  "  as  he  con- 
tinued to  rub  its  surface. 

His  life  was,  on  the  whole,  a  most  unhappy  one.  He  fell 
into  the  habit  of  opium-eating,  from  which  he  never  entirely 


20  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

recovered.  He  was  unfortunate  in  his  domestic  relations. 
He  published  a  good  deal,  "The  Interior  of  the  Continent" 
being  the  most  important.  Its  main  feature,  and  one  of  the 
most  interesting,  was  his  study  of  the  Mormons. 

He  died  before  he  reached  middle  age,  the  victim  of  opi- 
umania  and  disappointment. 


V. 

TOWARD  THK  SETTING  SUN. 

THE  Star  did  not  dim  in  its  luster,  and  within  a  year  my 
salary  grew  to  twelve  dollars  a  week,  and  the  free  occu- 
pancy of  a  fine  suit  of  rooms  in  the  residence  of  Mr.  Col- 
borne. 

One  of  my  college  chums  was  George  C.  Harrington,  the 
son  of  a  farmer  near  Joliet.  When  he  left  Union,  he  joined 
a  brother,  a  steamboat  man,  who  lived  at  Davenport,  Iowa. 
The  latter  was  possessed  of  considerable  means  which  he 
offered  to  share  with  his  brother.  George  looked  the 
ground  over,  and,  being  more  or  less  literary  in  his  tastes, 
concluded  that  the  best  investment  would  be  an  evening 
newspaper. 

This  was  in  the  spring  of  1856,  and  soon  after  young 
Harrington  reached  Davenport  I  received  a  letter  from  him 
in  which  he  offered  me  a  half  interest  in  his  enterprise, 
without  cost  to  myself ;  he  to  furnish  the  plant,  and  suffi- 
cient capital  to  sustain  the  publication  until  it  grew  strong 
enough  to  walk  alone. 

I  felt,  of  course,  highly  complimented  by  this  liberal 
proposition  ;  and  after  some  further  letters  from  Harrington, 
in  which  he  painted,  in  richest  colors,  the  beauty  and  won- 

21 


22  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

derful  prospects  of  the  city  and  its  surroundings,  and  more 
especially  the  certainty  of  immediate  success,  and  ultimate 
fortune  in  the  newspaper  venture,  I  threw  up  my  position 
on  the  Star,  and  went  to  Davenport. 

Davenport  was  then  a  handsome  and  promising  town. 
The  first  railway  bridge  across  the  Mississippi  had  just  been 
completed,  connecting  the  Chicago  and  Rock  Island  Railway 
with  Davenport. 

It  may  be  said  at  this  point  that  this  splendid  connection 
was  an  object  of  intense  opposition  —  its  building,  and  its 
existence  long  after  its  completion.  The  river  interests, 
which  included  the  majority  of  the  population  of  the  city, 
saw  only  ruin  in  the  bridge.  It  would  make  the  town  a 
way-station  ;  it  would  annihilate  the  two  ferry-boats  which 
transported  freight  and  passengers  across  the  river,  and 
pauperize  the  team-owners  and  all  the  other  industries 
involved  in  the  transportation  business. 

The  opposition  was  furious.  Threats  of  blowing  up  the 
bridge  were  common,  and  when  some  reckless  pilots,  in 
taking  their  vessels  through  the  draw,  would  now  and  then 
wreck  one  against  a  pier,  the  disaffection  against  the  struct- 
ure assumed  almost  the  dimensions  of  a  riot.  Time  passed. 
There  was  a  ferry-boat  or  two  thrown  out  of  service,  but,  in 
the  end,  Davenport  throve  under  the  alleged  misfortune  and 
became  rich  and  prosperous,  malgrc  lui. 

Davenport  was,  at  that  time,  a  characteristic  ' '  river 
town. ' '  The  majority  of  the  business  interests  were  involved 
in  the  receipt  and  shipment  of  goods  by  the  Mississippi 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  23 

River.  I/ong  lines  of  steamers  lay  along  the  ' '  levees, ' '  as 
the  landings  were  termed.  The  men  connected  with  the 
river  traffic  were  the  aristocracy  of  the  region.  The  captain 
was  away  up  in  the  altitude  of  rank. 

The  pilot,  when  he  stood  at  his  wheel,  was  a  greater  per- 
son than  the  captain.  The  clerk  of  the  boat  was  always 
spoken  of  by  the  newspapers  as  ' '  Billy  Johnson,  the  gentle- 
manly and  popular  clerk  of  the  Hawkey e" 

Even  the  burly,  big-fisted,  bull-necked,  blaspheming  mate 
rose  considerably  above  the  average  business  man,  the  law- 
yer and  the  preacher  in  the  estimate  of  the  elements  of  the 
population  which  found  occupation  in  loafing  or  working  on 
the  levee. 

Back  of  the  shanties,  the  capacious  warehouses,  the  gin- 
mills,  the  ground  rose  slowly  toward  the  lofty  bluffs,  on 
which  were  scattered  dwellings,  a  few  business  blocks,  the 
steeples  and  spires  of  three  or  four  churches.  The  sloping 
site  of  the  town  was  a  lovely  one,  and,  to  some  extent,  justi- 
fied the  ardent  belief  of  its  residents  —  especially  those  who 
owned  and  owed  for  real  estate  —  that  it  was  the  future  city 
of  the  great  West. 


VI. 

RAINBOWS  IN  THE  SKY. 

HARRINGTON,  my  partner,  a  slender  young  blonde,  had 
thoroughly  mastered  the  printing  business  before  he  entered 
Union  College,  and,  as  a  consequence,  he  had  no  difficulty  in 
selecting  the  material  for  the  new  venture.  Office  and  com- 
posing, as  well  as  press  rooms,  were  all  secured  in  a  single 
apartment  on  the  second  floor  of  Judge  James  Grant's  block. 

On  September  20,  1856,  the  first  number  of  the  Daily 
Evening  News  was  given  to  the  public.  It  was  a  five-column 
sheet,  and,  being  printed  from  brand-new  type  and  on  some 
paper  selected  for  a  beginning,  it  was  exceedingly  handsome, 
and  satisfactory  to  the  publishers  and  a  fairly  large  share  of 
the  community. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  the  initial  number  had  a  plethoric 
supply  of  advertisements,  so  that  the  first  paper  was  full  of 
promise  of  substantial  circulation  and  excellent  business 
patronage. 

11  Isn't  she  a  beauty?"  asked  my  partner,  as  he  picked 
one  of  the  first  copies  from  the  pile  and  regarded  its  clear, 
distinct  impressions  with  a  warmth  of  admiration  such  as  he 
would  have  extended  to  a  masterpiece  of  Guido. 

11  Indeed  she  is  !  "  was  the  reply  of  his  equally  enthusias- 

24 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  25 

tic  partner.  '  *  We  have  got  it !  The  future  is  ours,  and 
we'll  wipe  the  Democrat  out  of  existence  ! " 

The  Democrat  was  a  morning  daily  which  had  been  started 
some  months,  and  concerning  which  more  anon.  Suffice  it 
that,  without  knowing  any  of  the  editors,  publishers,  or 
anything  else  concerning  the  paper  in  question,  we  hated  it 
with  deadly  animosity. 

There  was  also  a  morning  Republican  newspaper,  the 
Gazette,  and  which,  of  course,  we  were  compelled  to  look 
upon  with  contempt  as  the  organ  of  the  opposition,  the  mere 
and  mercenary  instrument  of  fanatics  and  bigots  ;  but  from  a 
personal  and  business  standpoint  there  was  nothing  venom- 
ous, as  in  the  case  of  our  rival. 

Time  rolled  on  till  the  holidays  came,  and  during  all  this 
period  business  was  satisfactory.  Other  newspapers  sent  us 
marked  copies  of  their  issues,  in  which  were  flattering 
notices  of  the  News,  with  ' '  Please  X  "  on  the  wrapper. 
These  papers  were  nearly  or  quite  all  weeklies,  semi-month- 
lies or  monthlies,  and  yet  they  were  so  cordial  and  flattering 
in  their  allusions  that  we  could  not  resist  their  request  for 
an  even  exchange. 

Under  the  staring  head-line,  "What  the  Press  Thinks 
of  Us,"  we  reproduced  all  these  compliments  in  leaded 
minion,  and  felt  that  we  were  deserving  of  all  the  outrage- 
ous flattery,  and  also  thought  that  the  public,  perusing  these 
notices  with  an  untrammeled  interest,  would  accept  all  as 
Gospel  truth. 

Up  to  the  last  day  of  the  year  business  was  flourishing, 


26  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

and  we  frequently  felicitated  each  other  on  the  bonanza  we 
had  found  and  the  certainties  of  a  grand  success  in  the  near 
future.  So  promising  was  this  period  that  our  enterprise 
attracted  attention  from  foreign  capital. 

Hon.  George  Van  Hollern,  now  a  well-known  judge  on 
the  bench  in  New  York  City,  and  his  brother,  John,  were  in 
Davenport  at  the  time  engaged  in  the  practice  of  law.  They 
were  so  impressed  with  the  success  of  the  News  that  they 
proposed  to  its  proprietors  to  organize  a  real-estate  and 
banking  house  in  connection  with  the  newspaper. 

Capital  in  New  York  City  became  interested ;  the  pur- 
posed institution  was  given  a  name ;  cards  were  printed  on 
which  were  the  names  of  the  Van  Hollerns,  and  those  of 
Harrington  and  myself,  as  constituting  the  combination. 

One  may  fancy  the  feelings  of  two  young  fellows  just  out 
of  college  as  they  contemplated  this  galaxy  of  glory,  all 
within  less  than  four  months  1  It  was  overpowering,  incom- 
prehensible 1  We  could  not  repress  our  joy  ;  we  moved  on 
wings  ;  we  no  longer  walked  :  we  soared  far  up  in  the  blue 
empyrean  1 


VII. 

CLOUDS   FOLLOW   THK   RAINBOWS. 

ALMOST  immediately  after  the  holidays  there  was  big 
falling-off  in  advertisements.  The  shrinkage  was  palpable 
and  alarming.  At  the  same  time  collections  became  diffi- 
cult :  accounts  regarded  as  gilt-edged,  and  which  we  had 
held  back  for  a  possible  emergency,  were  met  by  requests 
to  "call  again  1  " 

The  News,  in  a  little  time,  was  running  at  a  loss.  For  a 
couple  of  months  we  had  worked  off  the  issue  on  a  hand 
press,  and  just  before  business  turned  we  had  taken  advan- 
tage of  the  boom  to  purchase  a  power  press,  the  money  for 
which  had  been  advanced  by  an  enthusiastic  farmer  who 
was  anxious  to  have  something  to  do  with  a  newspaper. 
We  were  to  pay  for  the  press  in  installments,  one  of  which 
was  past  due,  and  another  near  maturity,  and  our  patron 
was  getting  inquisitive,  paying  us  frequent  visits  and  seem- 
ing to  be  unusually  interested  in  our  welfare. 

George  and  I  discussed  the  situation. 

' '  What,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  is  the  matter  with  every? 
thing  and  everybody  ?  Business  is  stampeded  and  is  on  tha 
run,"  was  his  discouraging  remark. 

I  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  practical  department  of  the 

27 


28  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

paper,  and  only  knew  that  up  to  date  things  had  gone  well. 

"  What's  the  trouble?" 

'  *  The  bottom  has  apparently  dropped  out  of  the  News 
and  also  out  of  the  town.  I  can't  collect  anything;  the 
paper-bills  are  over-due ;  the  old  man  is  getting  uneasy 
about  the  press,  and  to-day,  for  the  first  time,  I  have  had  to 
pay  the  printers  only  a  little  over  half  their  wages." 

"  That's  pretty  tough  1  I  don't  see  but  one  way  out  of 
it." 

"  What's  that?" 

"To  'strike'  John  for  enough  to  cover  the  deficit  and 
tide  us  over  till  spring  business  opens." 

John  was  the  steamboat  man  who  was  backing  our  enter- 
prise, or,  rather,  who  had  supplied  us  with  funds  to  start  in 
business. 

"I  was  in  hopes,"  said  George,  "that  I  would  not  be 
obliged  to  call  on  him  again,  for  some  time  at  least.  You 
know  that  the  amount  he  has  left  in  the  pot  is  only  two 
thousand  dollars,  and  this  was  to  be  kept  for  improvements." 

The  conclusion  was,  however,  that  the  situation  impera- 
tively demanded  relief.  George  reluctantly  agreed  to  inter- 
view our  patron. 

A  couple  of  hours  later  he  came  back,  his  face  white  as 
a  shroud  and  his  mouth  twitching  with  pain. 

"  In  God's  name,  what  ails  you  ?  "  I  asked,  in  alarm  at 
his  appearance. 

"We  are  ruined  !  "  was  his  despondent  reply. 

This  incident  demands  some  retrospection.     In  the  Presi- 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  29 

dential  election  of  1856,  Fremont  and  Buchanan  were 
opposed,  and  the  contest,  involving  all  the  bitterness  and 
hatred  of  the  free-soil  issues,  was  carried  on  with  a  vindic- 
tiveneSs  that  was  almost  deadly  in  its  intensity.  Our  capi- 
talist was  a  strong  Democrat,  but  was  carried  away,  con- 
fused, lost  in  the  political  turmoil,  and  concluded  that 
Fremont  would  carry  Iowa,  as  well  as  the  entire  election. 
Inspired  by  this  conviction,  he  wagered  one  thousand  dol- 
lars that  Buchanan  would  lose  Iowa  and  another  thousand 
that  he  would  not  be  elected. 

Of  course,  he  lost  both  the  bets,  and  the  money  thus 
wagered  was  the  fund  he  had  laid  aside  for  the  support  of 
the  News. 

This  was  the  information  which  my  partner  brought  me 
after  his  interview  with  his  brother. 

' '  But  he  says, ' '  added  George,  ' l  that  he  will  make  it  up 
to  us  when  navigation  opens  in  the  spring.  That  will  be 
three  months  yet ;  but  when  the  river  is  clear  he  will  make 
money  fast  —  at  least  a  thousand  dollars  a  trip  from  St. 
Louis  to  St.  Paul." 

"Well,  we'll  have  to  get  on  some  way  till  that  time. 
But  don't  you  think  it  pretty  rough  on  us  and  the  party 
that  a  Democrat  should  invest  money  on  a  Democratic 
defeat,  especially  when  there  was  not  the  slightest  possi- 
bility of  a  Republican  victory,  and  more  especially  when  the 
money  thus  lost  was  the  vital  support  of  a  struggling  Demo- 
cratic newspaper  ?  ' ' 

We  did  not  disagree  on  this  point.     We  separated,  very 


30  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 


despondent,  but  determined  to  try  and  get  through  some 
way  till  the  winter  ice  floated  out  of  the  river. 


VIII. 
STRUCK  BY  A  CYCU>NE. 

THK  dullness  of  the  winter  season  was  of  itself  depress- 
ing ;  the  loss  of  the  money  wagered  on  Fremont's  election 
added  vastly  to  our  embarrassment ;  and  even  this  was 
not  all  that  conspired  to  impede  our  progress. 

Without  being  at  all  aware  of  the  imminence  of  a  catastro- 
phe, one  was  pending  which  was  to  wreck  almost  a  nation's 
prosperity.  There  were  indications  of  a  financial  depression  ; 
the  commercial  barometer  showed  a  rapid  decline  ;  but  few, 
unless  the  more  sagacious  of  the  weather-prophets,  foresaw 
anything  like  the  real  extent  of  the  storm. 

It  was  the  famous,  malignant,  destructive  financial  crisis 
of  1857  that  was  moving  over  the  country,  and  which,  in 
time,  swept  everything  before  it  with  the  fury  and  destruc- 
tiveness  of  a  tornado. 

I  need  not  enter  into  the  details  of  this  calamitous  event, 
further  than  to  state  that  Davenport  was  especially  affected 
by  its  operations.  The  only  currency  in  use  in  the  com- 
munity was  what  was  termed  "Florence"  money,  and 
which  was  the  issue,  in  Florence,  Nebraska,  of  a  firm  of 
private  bankers  doing  business  in  Davenport.  The  wild- 
cat banks  everywhere  had  been  utterly  ruined  ;  the  Florence 

31 


PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 


money  had  been  brought  in  in  order  to  evade  the  law,  and 
circulated  freely  at  a  considerable  discount  below  gold. 

As  said,  the  News  did  not  at  first  comprehend  the  real 
calamity  that  was  pending.  When  we  found  that  the  re- 
serve on  which  we  had  depended  was  lost,  we  turned  our 
attention  to  efforts  to  tide  over  the  crisis  in  our  affairs  till 
the  opening  of  navigation,  when  we  confidently  anticipated 
an  ample  supply. 

It  had  always  been  the  case  on  the  river,  that,  when  the 
ice  went  out  on  the  Upper  Mississippi,  there  were  always 
boats  below,  between  Cairo  and  St.  L,ouis,  waiting  for  the 
clearing  of  the  ice. 

Among  these  waiting  boats  there  was  a  fierce  strife  pre- 
vailing as  to  which  should  take  the  lead  in  the  first  trip  up 
the  river.  Good  pilots  were  in  high  demand,  and  sure  of  a 
small  fortune  in  case  they  succeeded  in  holding  the  wheel  of 
the  first  boat. 

My  partner's  brother,  John,  was  one  of  the  best  pilots  on 
the  Upper  Mississippi  River.  He  was  always  among  the 
first  to  be  selected  for  the  initial  trips  ;  and  it  was  upon  this 
engagement  that  our  hopes  now  turned.  His  vessel  was  the 
Argo  that  was  to  bring  us  the  golden  fleece. 

The  pilot  left  some  time  in  February  for  St.  I^ouis,  to  be 
on  hand  in  ample  time  for  the  sailing  of  the  first  boat. 

'  'Boys,"  he  said  as  he  left,  "you  needn't  worry  any 
more.  She  '  '  (meaning  the  river)  '  '  is  going  to  open  early, 
and  I'll  be  back  in  a  jiffy,  loaded  with  cash  to  the  hurricane 
deck." 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  33 

' '  When  do  you  think  you  will  get  back  ?  ' ' 

"  Oh,  the  first  or  middle  of  March,  for  certain." 

We  shook  hands  all  around,  and  put  up  a  fervent  orison 
for  his  success  and  his  swift  return. 

From  this  period  on,  George  and  myself  occupied  our- 
selves in  making  small  payments  on  the  more  pressing  debts, 
staving  off  others,  and  waiting  and  watching  for  the  break- 
ing up  of  the  river  ice.  The  latter  seemed  as  if  it  were  a 
permanent  fixture  :  teams  continued  to  cross  it  as  if  they 
anticipated  keeping  it  up  all  summer. 

Then  there  was  a  break  opposite  the  city,  and  our  hopes 
were  aroused,  and  then  it  gorged  on  the  rapids,  and  we  were 
torn  with  despair.  Thus  hopes  and  fears  alternated  while 
we  watched  the  river  as  Sister  Ann  looked  from  the  window 
of  the  castle  in  search  of  relief  from  death. 

Finally  the  fetters  were  knocked  off,  and  we  began  to  scan 
the  lower  river  to  discover  the  smoke  of  a  steamer  over  the 
horizon  ;  we  listened  at  all  hours  of  the  night  for  the  wel- 
come shriek  of  a  whistle. 

"There  she  is  !  "  ejaculated  George  one  day.  "  There  she 
comes  !  Glory  to  God,  we're  all  right  !  " 

We  rushed  down  to  the  levee,  which  was  but  a  couple  of 
blocks  away,  and  saw  far  down  the  river  the  form  of  a 
steamer,  with  clouds  of  smoke  pouring  from  her  smoke- 
stacks, and  a  jet  of  white  steam  flying  from  her  whistle. 

Her  deck  had  a  few  passengers,  and  two  or  three  men 
were  in  the  pilot-house. 


IX. 

THE  WRECK  OF  MATTER  AND  THE  CRASH  OF  WORLDS. 

"  THAT'S  John,  sure  I  " 

"  It  doesn't  look  like  John.  If  it's  he,  he  is  shorter  than 
he  was,  and  has  raised  whiskers." 

It  required  a  visit  to  the  pilot-house  to  learn  the  person- 
ality of  the  supposed  John.  The  man  proved  to  be  some- 
body else. 

"  Did  I  see  Jack  in  St.  lyouis  ?  He  was  there  a-waitin', 
like  fifty  others,  for  a  job.  There  is  six  pilots  for  every 
boat.  They  say  that  river  navigation  is  all  gone  to  h — 1  on 
account  of  that  bridge." 

It  was  true  that  the  bridge  was  materially  influencing 
certain  commercial  phases  ;  but  the  real  interruption  was 
due  to  the  paralysis  of  the  financial  crisis. 

Several  boats  from  below  came  up  the  river,  and  it  was 
not  until  two  or  three  weeks  after  navigation  was  clear 
that  the  much-yearned-for  pilot  made  his  appearance.  He 
cut  all  our  ardent  hopes  off  at  a  single  blow. 

"  River  business  is  played,"  he  said,  with  indignation. 
' '  Time  was  when  steamboat  owners  almost  broke  their 
necks  trying  to  get  first  to  St.  I,ouis,  to  secure  their  favorite 
pilot  and  to  beg  him  to  accept  a  thousand  dollars  to  take  a 

34 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  35 

boat  to  St.  Paul  !  Now  there  are  more  pilots  than  wheels, 
and  the  best  of  talent  has  to  go  begging  for  a  j  ob  at  half  the 
old  figures.  It's  all  that  cussed  bridge  1  " 

It  was  with  broken  hearts  that  we  received  this  unex- 
pected intelligence,  which  promised  only  remediless  dis- 
aster. It  is  true  that  John  hinted  that  perhaps  later  on 
there  might  be  an  improvement,  but  the  suggestion  was  so 
exceedingly  faint  that  it  afforded  us  no  actual  encourage- 
ment. 

The  steamer  pulled  out,  went  up  through  the  draw,  and 
soon  after  disappeared  around  the  bend. 

We  two  were  prostrated  by  the  intelligence,  and  for  a 
time  concluded  that  there  was  no  recourse  save  to  close  out 
our  business.  After  a  time  the  elasticity  and  hopefulness  of 
youth  asserted  itself,  and  we  determined  to  continue  the 
struggle. 

"  We've  got  more  coming  to  us  than  we  are  owing  ;  let's 
make  'em  pay  up  !  " 

We  tried  assiduously  to  "make  'em  pay  up,"  but  they 
couldn't  in  some  cases,  and  wouldn't  in  others.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  business  was  prostrated.  Very  much  of  the  real 
estate  was  owned  by  large  proprietors  who  were  eaten  up 
by  taxation,  who  could  get  no  sales  for  their  lands,  with  the 
result  that  many  of  them  were  millionaires  in  the  possession 
of  corner  lots  and  acre  property,  and  but  little  better  than 
beggars  in  means  of  livelihood. 

Now  began  a  death  struggle  on  the  part  of  the  young 
owners  of  the  News.  To  meet  a  pressing  indebtedness, 


36  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

they  had  resort  to  some  one  of  the  numerous  ' '  banks  ' ' 
engaged  in  loaning  Eastern  money  and  discounting  local 
paper.  Two-and-a-half  per  cent,  a  month  was  the  smallest 
figure  at  which  accommodation  could  be  obtained,  and 
which,  of  course,  was  ruinous  to  any  legitimate  business. 

During  the  summer  of  1857  we  struggled  in  deep  water. 
Often  it  was  up  to  our  chins,  and  now  and  then  we  sank 
over  our  heads,  only  to  be  rescued  strangled  and  exhausted. 

Finally  the  task  became  no  longer  tolerable.  It  was  sug- 
gested that  the  cost  of  the  support  of  one  of  the  partners 
would  be  only  half  that  of  two.  Accordingly  an  attempt  was 
made  to  lighten  the  craft  by  throwing  over  ballast.  I  was 
the  ballast  that  was  dropped  into  the  raging  waters. 

Harrington  assumed  the  ownership  of  the  paper  with  all 
its  credits  and  liabilities.  I  was  left  adrift  without  a  dollar. 

I  may  as  well,  at  this  point,  trace  the  career  of  the  Even- 
ing News  to  its  sepulchre.  George  Harrington  became 
wearied  of  assisting  its  weakened  steps,  and  turned  it  over 
to  the  charity  of  John  Johns,  a  son  of  Bishop  Johns,  of 
Baltimore,  who  was  then  in  the  practice  of  law  in  Daven- 
port. Johns  was  immensely  pleased  to  become  the  owner  of 
a  newspaper,  and  beyond  doubt  contemplated  making  it  one 
of  the  leading  newspapers  in  the  West. 

However,  Johns  soon  tired  of  his  pet,  and  within  a  short 
time  handed  it  over  to  some  other  credulous  victim,  who 
passed  it  along  till  it  finally  was  placed  in  the  receiving- 
vault  of  the  Democrat,  where,  for  a  while,  there  appeared 
the  inscription,  The  Democrat-News,  and  soon  after  the  latter 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  37 

half  disappeared  and  was  interred  in  the  fathomless,  insati- 
ate potter's  field  of  defunct  journalism. 


X. 

A  MODEI,  WESTERN  TOWN. 

MY  partner,  Harrington,  engaged  in  some  other  occupa- 
tion till  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War.  He  entered  the  ser- 
vice in  an  Illinois  regiment  and  rose  to  the  rank  of  Captain. 
He  afterwards  engaged  in  business  and  has  met  with  great 
success.  He  was  for  several  years  mayor  of  Watseca,  is 
president  of  a  wealthy  bank,  and  the  possessor  of  substan- 
tial wealth.  He  is  a  man  of  family,  and  a  citizen  univer- 
sally respected  in  his  community. 

At  the  date  of  my  journalistic  venture  in  Davenport,  there 
were  two  other  English  dailies  —  the  Gazette  and  the  Demo- 
crat, both  morning  issues,  the  first-named  Republican,  and 
the  other  Democratic. 

The  first  journal  started  in  Davenport,  if  not  in  the  State, 
was  in  1838,  by  Andrew  lyOgan.  In  fact,  it  undertook  to 
cover  portions  of  two  States,  Iowa  and  Illinois,  as  may  be 
inferred  by  its  name,  which  was  The  Iowa  Sun  and  Daven- 
port and  Rock  Island  News.  It  was  published  as  a 
weekly  till  1841,  when  it  was  succeeded  by  the  Davenport 
Weekly  Gazette,  by  Alfred  Saunders.  In  1853  it  became  a 
tri-weekly,  and  in  1854  a  daily. 

The  Democrat  commenced  as  a  daily  issue  the  next  month 

38 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  39 

after  the  Evening  News,  in  October,  1856.  It  was  started 
by  Hildreth,  son  of  the  Attorney- General  of  New  York,  and 
who  died  the  next  September,  when  the  Democrat  fell  into 
the  hands  of  Richardson  and  West.  L,ater,  West  was 
succeeded  by  Richardson's  brother,  and  the  firm  yet  remains 
Richardson  &  Brother. 

This  newspaper,  the  latest-born  of  a  brood  of  dailies  in 
Davenport,  was  in  the  nature  of  Aaron's  rod,  inasmuch  as  it 
swallowed  all  the  others.  It  first  bolted  the  Evening  News, 
and,  after  digesting  it,  threw  it  out ;  a  couple  of  years  ago 
it  swallowed  the  Gazette,  and  became  an  evening  journal, 
the  Democrat-Gazette.  In  due  season  the  Gazette  nutriment 
was  assimilated,  and  the  paper  became  solely  the  Democrat, 
which  it  yet  remains. 

There  is  a  queer  phase  in  the  life  of  this  newspaper 
which  will  bear  narration.  Some  years  ago  it  lost  money 
with  great  rapidity  —  so  much  so  that  the  senior  proprietor 
became  disheartened,  and  one  evening  announced  to  his 
brother  that  the  next  issue  should  be  the  final  one.  The 
institution  had  about  beggared  him,  and  he  was  determined 
to  stop  it  before  it  dragged  him  into  the  poor-house. 

Thereupon  the  younger  brother  pleaded  earnestly  for  a 
delay  of  three  days.  The  request  was  reluctantly  granted, 
and  the  young  man  hastily  packed  his  carpet-bag  and  took 
the  night  train  for  Chicago. 

The  next  morning,  bright  and  early,  he  began  work. 
He  approached  all  sorts  of  business  men  and  offered  to 
advertise  their  goods  and  take  his  pay  in  kind.  The  scheme 


40  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

"  took."  It  was  but  a  couple  of  days  before  goods  of  all 
kinds  commenced  pouring  into  the  home  office.  1/arge 
warehouses  were  secured  and  were  filled  with  ' ( truck ' '  of 
every  possible  kind. 

Nothing  came  amiss.  There  were  reapers,  mowing- 
machines,  all  kinds  of  agricultural  implements,  patent  medi- 
cines, baking-powders,  boots  and  shoes,  ready-made  cloth- 
ing, seed-potatoes,  rat-poison,  pianos,  guitars,  barrels,  demi- 
johns and  bottles  of  whisky,  wine,  champagne,  sewing- 
machines,  watches,  jewelry,  steam-engines,  and  a  thousand 
other  things  of  every  possible  kind  and  conception. 

A  ready  sale,  at  figures  below  the  market  price,  was  had, 
and  wealth  rapidly  inundated  these  fortunate  brothers. 

The  Davenport  newspapers  were,  as  a  rule,  mere  party 
organs  at  that  period.  They  had  no  telegraph  news  save 
such  as  came  at  second-hand  from  the  then  limited  supply 
of  the  Chicago  newspapers.  Devotion  to  party  was  the  test 
of  the  value  of  the  journal.  All  else  was  subordinated  to 
this  feature.  The  News  once  ' '  bolted  ' '  in  the  case  of  some 
small  Democratic  action,  and  was  at  once  denounced  by 
some  of  the  managers,  and  efforts  were  resorted  to  to  deprive 
it  of  the  patronage  of  advertising  men  and  the  support  of 
subscribers. 

There  was  a  single  point  of  agreement  among  the  local 
newspapers  :  that  of  holding  Davenport  to  be  the  healthiest, 
handsomest,  most  promising  city  in  the  State  and  on  the 
Upper  Mississippi  River. 

John  Harrington,  the  pilot,  died  in  Texas,  soon  after  the 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  41 

war  ;  the  elder  Saunders  of  the  Gazette,  a  suave,  dignified, 
cultivated  gentleman,  died  a  few  years  ago,  and  "  Add,"  the 
younger  brother,  a  dyspeptic  lath  which  a  slight  breeze 
would  blow  away,  entered  the  army,  rose  to  be  a  General,  and 
issued  from  the  conflict  with  the  health  and  muscle  of  a 
light-weight  prize-fighter. 

There  were  some  men  in  Davenport,  at  the  period  of  my 
stay,  who  afterwards  obtained  more  or  less  note.  One  of 
the  most  famous  of  these  was  Austin  Corbin  —  now  a  noted 
capitalist  —  then  a  private  banker  of  the  firm  of  Corbin  & 
Dow.  He  was  noted  for  his  sterling  Democracy,  his  close 
attention  to  business,  but  gave  no  hint  of  the  height  which 
he  was  to  attain. 

Hon.  John  F.  Dillon,  who  has  since  attained  so  great  a 
height  in  the  judicial  world,  was  a  young  and  promising 
lawyer. 

Hon.  James  Grant,  the  well-known  millionaire,  was  a 
leading  citizen,  a  large  owner  of  real  estate,  a  firm  Democrat, 
and  a  leading,  influential  public  man. 

Captain  James  May,  a  veteran  steamboat-owner  from 
Pittsburg,  was  very  prominent  as  the  owner  of  enormous 
tracts  of  unimproved  land  in  Davenport.  He  was  so  much 
so  that  he  was  unable  to  carry  it  through  the  panic,  and  lost 
every  dollar  of  his  supposed  wealth. 

Hiram  Price  was  a  resident  of  the  town.  His  extreme 
views  on  prohibition  ;  his  labor  to  build  up  the  Sons  of 
Temperance  ;  his  connection  with  various  conspicuous 
federal  offices,  and  his  great  wealth,  have  made  him  widely 


42  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

known.  His  daughter  was  the  wife  of  Rev.  Robert  Laird 
Collyer,  to  whose  memory  the  beautiful  structure  connected 
with  the  Unitarian  Church,  on  Wabash  Avenue,  was  erected. 

Mr.  Neeley,  a  venerable  and  respected  citizen  of  Chicago, 
and  the  father  of  the  Neeley  Brothers,  Rochester  shoe- 
house,  was  the  distributor  of  the  Evening  News  in  Daven- 
port. 

Another  noted  person  living  in  that  day  at  Davenport 
was  Antoine  L,eClaire.  His  father  was  a  Canadian  French- 
man, and  his  mother  the  grand-daughter  of  a  Pottawattamie 
chief.  His  wife  was  the  grand-daughter  of  a  Sac  chief, 
Acoqua  (the  Kitten).  In  1808  he  was  in  business  in  Mil- 
waukee ;  in  1809  he  was  a  partner  of  John  Kinzie,  at  Fort 
Dearborn  (Chicago),  and  in  1833  he  was  appointed  post- 
master at  Davenport.  He  spoke  some  twelve  Indian  lan- 
guages, or  dialects,  and  both  English  and  French.  He  lived 
to  a  great  age,  his  life  replete  with  action  and  adventure  ; 
his  charities  were  vast,  including  the  beautiful  church  of 
St.  Margaret,  and  he  died  leaving  immense  wealth. 


XI. 
A  CHANGE  OF  BASK. 

THE  disposition  of  the  News  to  Harrington  left  me  with- 
out a  dollar  in  cash.  I  had  taken  a  wife  in  the  spring  of 
1857,  m  the  belief  that  I  had  an  assured  income.  This  fact 
added  considerably  to  the  embarrassment  of  my  condition. 

I  cast  about  for  some  occupation,  and  soon  decided  that 
there  was  a  good  opportunity  for  a  book  on  Davenport  and 
vicinity. 

It  is  a  town  in  and  about  which  many  stirring  events  took 
place  in  the  early  part  of  the  century.  A  fort  —  Arm- 
strong—  was  built  on  the  Island  in  1816  as  a  protection 
against  hostile  Indians  ;  it  was  the  home  of  Blackhawk, 
Keokuk,  and  other  notable  Indian  chiefs. 

I  talked  over  the  plan  of  a  book  which  should  embody 
the  history  of  the  place,  its  present  character,  and  the  prob- 
abilities of  its  future,  and  found  that  it  was  well  received  by 
my  friends.  I  laid  the  matter  before  the  printing-house  of 
I^use,  I^ane  &  Co.,  who  agreed  to  consider  the  proposition  in 
case  they  could  get  some  guarantees  as  to  the  sale  of  the 
work. 

43 


44  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

I  made  a  canvass  among  some  of  the  more  prominent 
citizens,  and  in  a  week  secured  a  written  agreement  for  the 
purchase  of  3,000  copies  at  $3.00  each. 

The  printing-firm  eagerly  snapped  up  the  job,  and  I 
began  the  work.  There  was  no  contract  between  us  save 
a  verbal  one  that,  as  I  had  secured  the  sale  of  the  book 
in  advance,  and  was  to  do  all  the  literary  labor,  there 
was  to  be  a  fair  division  of  the  profits.  Meanwhile  it  was 
agreed  that  the  firm  should  advance  me  five  dollars  a  week 
while  writing  the  book,  and  which  they  proceeded  to  do  in 
Florence  currency,  worth  from  fifty  to  sixty  cents  on  the 
dollar. 

With  this  labor  in  hand,  I  had  no  trouble  to  establish  a 
credit  for  food  and  supplies  of  all  kinds,  so  that,  with  the 
cash  in  hand  each  week,  I  managed  to  get  through  till 
spring  without  much  difficulty. 

I  drove  the  work  to  the  full  extent  of  my  ability,  and  at 
the  end  of  three  months  it  was  printed  and  in  the  bindery. 
As  may  be  inferred,  I  was  well  satisfied  with  my  winter's 
work.  I  confidently  anticipated  that  my  share  of  the  enter- 
prise would  be  at  least  fifteen  hundred  dollars. 

One  day,  Lane,  one  of  the  partners,  came  to  me,  and  said 
he  wished  to  have  a  little  private  talk  with  me.  We  went 
into  a  secluded  corner,  when  he  said  : 

' '  I  suppose  you  have  no  doubt  that  I  am  your  friend  ? ' ' 

"  Why,  yes,  I  always  thought  so.     Why  do  you  ask?  " 

"  Well,  there  is  liable  to  be  trouble  about  your  book." 

' '  Trouble  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  ' ' 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  45 

"This  is  it.  I  learn  that  Judge  Grant  has  taken  out 
papers  to  levy  on  your  book." 

"  What  for?  What  has  Judge  Grant  got  to  do  with  the 
book,  or  what  have  I  to  do  with  him  ?  " 

"  It  has  something  to  do  with  some  debt  of  the  News  for 
rent." 

"  But  I've  nothing  to  do  with  the  News.  When  my  old 
partner  took  possession,  he  formally  assumed  all  the  liabili- 
ties and  agreed  to  collect  all  the  indebtedness  from  outsiders. ' ' 

"That  don't  relieve  you.  You  are  hoi  den  for  the  debts 
of  the  paper  just  the  same  as  if  you  were  still  a  partner." 

' (  That  would  be  an  infernal  outrage  ! ' ' 

' '  Maybe  it  would  be,  but  Grant  has  the  law  on  his  side, 
whether  he  has  or  has  not  right. ' ' 

I  was  suddenly  tossed  back  to  earth  with  a  force  that 
stunned  me.  All  my  hard  winter's  work  useless,  all  my 
bright  anticipations  blasted.  L,ane  watched  me  as  I  writhed 
under  the  torture,  and,  after  allowing  it  to  operate  for  a  time, 
he  said  : 

"  Look  here  ;  it's  too  infernally  bad,  and  I'll  help  you  out  ! 
There  is  no  justice  in  this  claim,  for  the  man  who  took  the 
News  should  pay  its  indebtedness. ' ' 

"  What  can  be  done  about  it  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you.  I'm  your  friend,  and,  as  a  mere  matter  of 
form,  you  know,  3^ou  sign  this  bill  of  sale  for  the  book.  It's 
all  right  — just  to  prevent  an  injustice." 

Wholly  ignorant  in  such  matters,  I  signed  the  paper  under 
the  conviction  that  it  was  but  justice  to  my  rights. 


46  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

When  the  book  was  on  the  market,  and  the  cash  was  com- 
ing in,  I  spoke  to  L,ane,  saying  : 

"  Can't  we  have  some  settlement  about  the  book  ?  I  am 
pretty  hard  up.  My  creditors  who  have  trusted  me  all 
winter  naturally  expect  to  get  their  pay." 

' '  Settlement  ?  What  settlement  ?  About  what  book  are 
you  talking  ?  ' ' 

' '  Why,  my  share  in  the  sales  of  '  Davenport  Past  and 
Present.'  " 

1 '  Your  share  ?    What  have  you  got  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

' '  Why,  everything.     What  do  you  mean  ?  ' ' 

He  pulled  out  his  wallet,  took  out  a  folded  piece  of  paper, 
straightened  it,  held  it  before  my  eyes  and  said  : 

"  You  can  read  tjiat,  can't  you  ?  " 

It  was  the  bill  of  sale  of  my  book  ! 

"But  that  was  understood  to  be  merely  a  protection 
against  an  unjust  levy  for  debts  for  which  I  am  not  respon- 
sible." 

"You  think  so,  do  you?  Well,  make  that  plea  in  the 
courts,  and  see  what  will  be  the  effect !  " 

I  later  called  the  attention  of  the  principal  member  of  the 
firm,  the  holy,  godly,  total-abstinence,  sanctimonious  unit 
of  the  printing  trinity.  He  heard  me  through,  and  then 
said  : 

' '  I  understand  you  have  threatened  to  bring  this  matter 
into  a  court  of  equity.  If  you  had  not  made  this  threat,  I 
would  have  done  something  for  you.  As  it  now  stands,  I 
refuse  to  do  anything,  and  you  may  carry  it  into  the  courts." 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  47 

He  knew  well  that  I  would  not  undertake  legal  proceed- 
ings. I  was  a  pauper  ;  he  and  the  firm  were  wealthy,  and 
he  reasoned  that  no  court  would  believe  that  a  firm  of  such 
sanctification  and  piety  would  engage  in  so  outrageous  a 
proceeding. 

I  dropped  the  matter.  I  had  spent  three  months'  hard 
work  on  the  book,  for  which  I  had  received  $65  in  "  Flor- 
ence "  currency,  worth  not  over  $45. 

The  firm  had  the  sale  of  the  three  thousand  copies  minus 
the  few  sent  to  the  press,  and  for  which  they  received  about 
$5,000.  In  addition  they  published  a  large  number  of  steel 
engravings  of  the  principal  citizens  of  Davenport,  on  each  of 
which  they  made  several  hundreds  of  dollars.  Moreover  there 
were  wood-cuts  of  business  blocks  and  private  residences 
from  which  they  obtained  considerable  sums. 

In  all,  from  the  sale  of  the  book  they  realized  seven  or 
eight  thousand  dollars,  of  which,  according  to  a  verbal 
agreement,  I  should  have  received  ten  per  cent,  or  some  seven 
hundred  dollars,  and  in  lieu  of  which  I  was  the  recipient  of 
sixty-five  dollars  in  depreciated  currency. 

It  is  with  some  considerable  satisfaction  that  I  relate  that 
the  member  of  the  firm  who  inveigled  me  into  signing  the 
bill  of  sale  afterwards  died  a  drunkard  in  the  gutter,  and 
that  both  the  other  members  have  since  been  persistently 
afflicted  by  chronic  ill-health,  and  death  and  other  mis- 
fortunes. 


XII. 
TRAVELING  WITH  A  PANORAMA. 

I  WAS  left  without  a  cent  and  in  debt  for  my  supplies  dur- 
ing the  winter.  My  wife  went  home  to  her  parents  in  Elgin, 
and  thus  lightened  my  immediate  burdens. 

I  have  since  often  wondered  why  my  career  did  not  end 
at  this  period,  and  what  there  was  that  prevented  my  going 
to  hell  by  a  short  cut.  I  was  thoroughly  discouraged, 
demoralized,  and  possessed  by  despair.  I  naturally  gravi- 
tated into  low  company,  into  association  with  levee  toughs 
and  other  disreputable  characters.  I  drank  heavily  ;  I  saw 
nothing  worth  living  for  ;  I  reasoned  that  a  life  which  in  less 
than  two  years  had  been  so  disastrous  and  total  a  failure  was 
not  worth  caring  for. 

I  was  lifted  out  of  the  slough  into  which  I  had  fallen  by 
an  unexpected  incident.  The  War  with  the  Mormons  was 
then  brewing,  and  a  company  was  raised  in  Davenport  and 
offered  to  and  accepted  by  the  Governor  of  Illinois.  As  I 
had  some  knowledge  of  military  drill,  I  was  commissioned 
as  lieutenant,  and  this  gave  me  some  employment  in  dis- 
ciplining the  company.  It  also  led  to  my  studying  up  the 
Mormon  question,  with  which  I  became  tolerably  familiar. 

The  war-scare  died  out,  leaving  the  Mormons  much  in  the 

48 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  49 


minds  of  the  public.  There  was  a  steamboat  man  in  Daven- 
port who  had  lost  his  eyesight  in  a  boiler-explosion.  He 
had  a  little  money  of  his  own,  and  some  which  his  friends 
offered  him. 

It  was  suggested  that  advantage  might  be  taken  of  the 
Mormon  excitement  for  the  benefit  of  McGuire,  the  blind 
man,  and  a  local  artist  was  commissioned  to  paint  a  pano- 
rama relating  to  the  "Saints,"  and  which  it  was  thought 
could  be  shown  by  him  through  the  country,  and  thus 
afford  the  blind  exhibitor  a  living. 

Davenport  and  Rock  Island  became  interested  in  the  enter- 
prise and  determined  to  give  McGuire  a  send-off.  A  lect- 
urer being  a  necessity,  I  was  chosen  for  the  role,  and 
accordingly  introduced  the  exhibition  and  its  proprietor  to 
a  large  audience  in  each  of  the  two  cities. 

And  then  McGuire  and  his  friends  insisted  that  I  should 
accompany  him  on  his  tour.  I  was  offered  twenty  dollars  a 
week  in  gold  and  all  my  expenses  ;  it  is  needless  to  state 
that  I  accepted  the  proffer. 

In  the  opening  nights,  at  the  two  cities,  the  orchestra  was 
a  blind  fiddler,  a  musical  genius  named  Parker,  and  con- 
nected with  a  fine  family  in  Davenport.  He  pleaded  hard 
to  be  allowed  to  accompany  the  expedition,  but  was  refused 
by  the  proprietor,  who  was  evidently  of  the  opinion  that 
two  of  a  kind  could  not  agree. 

The  panorama  was  a  long  canvas  on  a  roller,  and  which 
began  with  the  finding  of  the  plates  of  the  Mormon  bible, 
then  showed  the  city  of  Nauvoo,  then  the  fighting,  the 


50  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  CF 

winter  quarters  in  Missouri,  and  afterward  the  long  and 
deadly  march  across  the  plains  and  through  the  mountains 
to  Salt  Lake  City  ;  concluding  with  pictures  of  conspicuous 
streets,  churches  and  public  buildings,  and  finishing  with 
the  portrait  of  a  bull-necked,  hairy  giant,  surrounded  by  half 
a  hundred  women,  the  ensemble  being  ' '  Brigham  Young 
and  His  Wives. " 

The  personnel  of  the  company  consisted  of  the  blind  pro- 
prietor and  a  young  fellow  to  do  the  packing  and  unpacking, 
to  take  tickets  at  the  door  and  generally  to  act  as  factotum. 

Our  trip,  as  outlined  by  the  enthusiastic  McGuire,  was  to 
take  the  principal  towns  between  Davenport  and  Chicago, 
stopping  one  night  at  each.  In  Chicago  we  were  to  stay 
several  months,  then  through  the  larger  towns  in  Michi- 
gan, thence  along  the  New  York  Central  way  to  Albany, 
down  the  Hudson,  to  New  York  City,  and  thence  home 
through  the  larger  cities  of  the  South. 

In  addition  to  my  duty  as  lecturer  was  that  of  advance 
agent.  When  a  lecture  was  finished,  it  was  my  custom  to 
hurry  on  by  the  first  train  to  the  next  town  and  bill  it  for 
the  following  night. 

The  combination  did  not  have  the  wealth  of  modern 
amusement  companies,  and,  as  a  consequence,  there  were  no 
gorgeous  posters  on  fences  and  bill-boards.  Before  starting, 
Mr.  McGuire  had  secured  the  printing  of  a  large  quantity 
of  hand-bills,  or  hangers,  about  the  width  of  three  columns 
of  the  average  newspaper  and  of  the  length  of  the  ordinary 
newspaper  page. 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  51 

These  modest  bills  gave  some  details  in  fine  type  of  the 
thrilling  character  of  the  panorama,  and  left  near  the  bottom 
a  blank  space  in  which  might  be  written  the  name  of  the 
hall  and  date  of  the  exhibition. 

I  confess  that  when  it  came  to  distributing  these  bills  I  was 
not  energetic.  I  hung  up  two  or  three  in  the  hotel  where  I 
stopped,  dropped  a  small  package  on  the  table  of  a  saloon 
or  two,  and  pasted  up  a  few  on  the  bulletin-board  of  the 
hall.  It  was  not  congenial  work,  this  distribution  of  bills, 
and  my  conscience  does  not  acquit  me  of  having  well  per- 
formed the  duty. 

Geneseo  was  the  first  town  billed  for  the  exhibition  of  the 
Great  Mormon  Panorama ;  but,  as  I  had  some  old-time 
acquaintances  in  the  place,  I  induced  McGuire  to  give  the 
necessary  talk,  and  I  went  on  to  bill  La  Salle.  The  only 
room  to  be  had  was  the  court-house,  a  dirty,  narrow,  stuffy 
den.  It  rained  all  day,  and  was  pouring  in  torrents  when 
the  exhibition  opened.  There  were  not  more  than  six  peo- 
ple present,  at  least  half  of  whom  were  composed  of  the 
porter,  bar-keeper  and  landlord  of  the  "tavern,"  and  who, 
of  course,  were  on  the  free  list. 

The  expenses  broke  McGuire.  The  next  morning,  led 
by  his  boy,  he  went  back  to  Davenport  to  raise  some  more 
funds  and  left  me  in  ( '  soak  ' '  at  the  hotel  as  a  guarantee  of 
the  liquidation  of  the  bill  on  his  return.  He  came  back  in 
a  couple  of  days,  took  the  panorama  and  myself  out  of  pawn5 
and  we  continued  our  journey  toward  the  rising  sun. 


XIII. 

h 

ONCE  MORE  IN  THE  DEPTHS. 

I  SHAW,  not  dwell  much  longer  on  this  phase  of  my 
experience.  We  did  not  spend  some  months  in  the  bewil- 
dering dissipations  of  Chicago  as  had  been  promised  by 
McGuire.  In  fact  we  did  not  even  come  to  the  town.  There 
was  a  railway  that  led  from  Joliet  to  Michigan,  and  over 
this  we  went  to  avoid  the  Garden  City,  I  have  since 
believed  that  McGuire  had  grave  doubts  as  to  his  ability  to 
interest  the  great  city,  and  avoided  it  for  humbler  places. 

We  kept  along  the  Michigan  Central  railway  till  we 
reached  Kalamazoo,  showing  in  several  small  towns,  and 
only  in  one  —  Dowagiac,  I  believe  —  having  a  paying  audi- 
ence. 

Much  was  expected  of  Kalamazoo.  It  was  a  large, 
handsome,  refined  town,  and  its  cultivated  people  would 
yearn  to  know  all  about  the  wicked  Mormons.  I  engaged 
Fireman's  Hall,  the  most  aristocratic  place  of  amusement  in 
the  town,  feebly  billed  the  show  and  then  awaited  the  rush. 

I  was  the  ticket- seller  till  the  time  came  to  begin  the 
lecture.  The  entrance  was  twenty-five  cents.  The  very 
first  call  for  tickets  was  from  a  husky  countryman  with  a 
strapping  girl  on  each  arm,  who  laid  down  seventy-five 

52 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  53 

cents  with  an  air  suggestive  to  me  of  marvelous  opulence. 
The  landlord  and  his  wife  (free  list)  were  present,  and  per- 
haps twenty-five  others  were  in  the  house. 

At  the  close  of  the  lecture,  and  after  the  audience  had 
gone,  McGuire  came  from  behind  the  curtain.  His  eyeless 
sockets  were  streaming  with  tears,  and  his  voice  was  giving 
utterance  to  a  doleful  Irish  lament,  in  which  ' '  Wirra  ! 
Wirra  !  "  were  the  words  most  audible,  given  in  a  swift, 
pathetic  monotone. 

He  was  again  ' '  strapped. ' '  A  constable  had  come  to 
levy  on  the  panorama  for  the  rent  of  the  hall.  He  said  he 
was  going  back  to  raise  some  more  money,  and  meanwhile 
I  might  go  and  bill  the  next  town  and  wait  there  till  he 
returned.  He  gave  me  thirty-five  cents  for  the  fare,  and  we 
parted. 

I  rushed  to  the  hotel,  asked  for  my  bag,  told  the  attend- 
ant that  Mr.  McGuire  would  pay  the  bill  for  all,  and  then 
went  to  the  station  and  waited  for  the  next  train  east.  The 
thirty-five  cents  just  paid  my  fare  to  the  next  station.  I 
dismounted,  and  registered  at  a  "hotel"  without  a  cent  of 
money  in  my  possession,  telling  the  landlord  I  was  the 
advance  agent  of  a  panorama  company  which  would  be 
along  in  a  few  days. 

I  never  again  saw  the  panorama,  nor  McGuire,  till  during 
the  war,  when  I  met  him  with  some  Iowa  troops,  acting  as 
sutler. 

It  was  in  April  that  we  left  Davenport  ;  it  was  about  the 
first  of  June  when  I  reached  the  little  town  beyond  Kala- 


54  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

mazoo.  I  was  destined  to  remain  there  for  a  considerable 
time,  as  will  be  seen  later. 

Before  leaving  the  panorama  business,  I  would  like  to  say 
that,  although  it  was  such  an  egregious  and  humiliating 
failure,  the  same  enterprise  properly  managed  would  have 
yielded  lucrative  results.  The  Mormon  affair  was  fresh  in 
the  mind  of  the  public,  armed  hostilities  between  the 
prophet  and  the  Government  were  in  the  air,  and  there  was 
everywhere  in  the  communities  a  lively  curiosity  in  regard 
to  the  "Saints." 

There  were  two  serious  mistakes  in  the  management  of 
the  panorama  enterprise.  It  was  not  sufficiently  adver- 
tised. Had  the  display  advertisements  of  the  newspapers 
and  a  liberal  supply  of  colored  posters  been  afforded,  then 
the  attention  of  the  public  would  have  been  awakened. 
The  other  mistake  was  in  the  nature  of  my  lecture. 

As  I  had  then  studied  the  Mormon  question,  apart  from 
the  absurdity  of  their  finding  of  the  metal  plates  of  the 
Book  of  Mormon,  their  course  was  one  which  at  once  in- 
spired my  respect,  sympathy,  and  hot  indignation  at  the 
manner  of  their  treatment.  Nothing  more  pathetic,  atro- 
cious and  unwarrantable  occurred  in  the  persecution  of  the 
Jews  than  was  inflicted  on  the  Mormons  in  Illinois  and 
Missouri.  The  arduous  march  of  the  Israelites  through 
the  desert  for  forty  years,  when  they  were  smitten  by 
deadly  plagues,  bitten  by  venomous  serpents,  starved, 
slaughtered,  old  and  young,  male  and  female,  was  no  worse 
in  its  repellant  features  than  the  march  of  the  Mormons  to 
Salt  Lake. 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  55 

Thus  believing,  in  my  lectures  I  treated  them  as  an 
abused  people.  I  pictured  feeble  women,  tender  infants  and 
aged  men  and  women  freezing  in  the  drear  storms  of 
winter,  broiling  under  summer  heats,  starving  in  alkali 
deserts,  sickening,  dying,  and  marking  the  line  of  march 
with  thick-lying  mounds  of  the  dead.  I  asked  pity  for 
people  who  were  willing  to  endure  so  much  for  their  faith, 
even  though  it  might  be  a  mistaken  one. 

The  small  number  of  the  public  who  heard  this  statement 
were  not  in  sympathy  with  it.  In  common  with  the  great 
majority,  they  wished  for  denunciation.  To  have  succeeded 
in  drawing  crowds,  I  should  have  taken  an  opposite  course. 
Religious  fanaticism  should  have  been  appealed  to  ;  bigotry 
should  have  been  invoked,  and  then  an  enterprise  which 
terminated  in  a  disgraceful  failure  would  have  resulted  in  a 
brilliant  success. 


XIV. 

How  I  AMUSED  MYSELF. 

As  SAID,  I  had  not  a  cent  of  money  when  I  registered  at 
the  hotel  of  the  little  town.  I  informed  the  landlord  of  my 
business,  and  that  the  proprietor  of  the  show  was  the 
capitalist  and  the  cashier. 

A  couple  of  weeks  ran  on,  and  then  somebody  from 
Kalamazoo  brought  in  intelligence  that  the  panorama  was 
attached  for  debt. 

I  was  ashamed  to  write  to  any  of  my  relatives  for  assist- 
ance, and  staid  on,  giving  the  landlord  assurance  that 
McGuire's  friends  were  rich,  and  it  would  only  be  a  ques- 
tion of  time  when  he  would  return  with  a  substantial  roll,  re- 
deem his  pictures,  and  square  his  indebtedness. 

The  landlord  was  an  easy-going  fellow  with  a  termagant 
wife,  and  who  found  me  of  use  to  him  in  avoiding  her,  at 
times  taking  me  fishing  and  to  play  ten-pins,  and  other 
diversions.  I  managed  by  a  diplomatic  bearing  to  keep  on 
her  best  side  and  thus  enjoyed  the  support  of  both  the 
belligerents. 

The  hundred  or  two  people  of  that  place  took  an  interest 
in  me.  I  formed  a  dozen  young  fellows  into  a  military  com- 
pany, and  taught  them  to  face,  wheel,  march,  double-quick, 

56 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  57 

to  move  file  and  column  front,  and  to  do  something  in  the 
manual  of  arms  with  an  old  rifle  or  two,  and  some  double 
and  single-barreled  shot-guns.  I  joined  the  youths  in  their 
games,  cultivated  the  justice  of  the  peace  and  the  minister, 
was  invited  to  church  sociables,  to  picnics,  and  finally  into 
private  families. 

Once  in  a  while  some  one  would  ask  what  was  the  latest 
about  the  panorama  ;  but  in  a  few  weeks  the  panorama  was 
no  more  mentioned,  and  I  was  accepted  as  a  regular  and 
well-liked  member  of  the  community. 


XV. 
INTO  TKMPTATION. 

A  CURIOUS  adventure  occurred  during  the  early  part  of 
June,  and  which  will  bear  narration. 

I  was  sitting  in  the  bowling-alley  watching  a  game 
between  a  couple  of  local  experts,  when  a  stranger  entered, 
and,  after  glancing  about,  finally,  as  if  by  accident,  dropped 
into  the  seat  adjoining  mine.  A  peculiar  stroke  by  one  of 
the  players  elicited  a  remark  from  me  to  which  he  responded. 
This  passed  into  a  conversation,  and,  later,  into  an  intimacy. 

He  was  a  tall,  powerfully-built  man,  with  a  smooth,  open 
face,  keen,  dark  eyes,  abundant  brown  hair,  and  shapely 
limbs  and  figure. 

He  was  voluble,  sociable,  treating  the  crowd  freely  at  the 
bar,  and,  in  doing  so,  exhibited  a  good  deal  of  money  in  gold 
pieces.  He  appeared  to  take  a  liking  to  me,  and  assiduously 
cultivated  my  acquaintance.  He  had  been  a  good  deal 
about  the  world,  and  knew  many  curious  people  and  won- 
derful things.  In  my  isolation  he  was  a  welcome  distrac- 
tion ;  I  became  attached  to  him,  and  thereafter  we  were 
inseparable. 

One  fine  Sabbath  morning  he  invited  me  to  take  a  walk 
in  the  country.  We  strolled  along  the  highway  for  a  mile 

58 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  59 

or  so,  and  then  turned  into  a  large  meadow,  near  the  center 
of  which  stood  an  immense  tree,  in  solitary  grandeur. 

"  lyet's  go  over  and  sit  down  in  the  shade  under  that  old 
elm." 

He  led  the  way,  and  when  we  reached  it,  we  sat  down  in 
the  grateful  shade.  My  companion,  as  if  inspired  by  the 
clear  brightness  of  the  sky,  the  serenity  of  the  environment, 
and  the  delicious  coolness  of  the  shade,  was  unusually 
genial  and  happy. 

His  talk,  after  resting  a  short  time  on  the  holy  calm  of 
the  Sabbath  day,  drifted  on  the  splendors  of  wealth,  the 
charm  of  travel,  the  favors  of  beautiful  women,  and  other 
matters  kindred  in  their  roseate  suggestions. 

After  a  time  his  thoughts  and  conversation  passed  into 
the  far  East.  He  exhibited  familiarity  with  ancient  history, 
with  legends  of  the  unlimited  wealth  of  oriental  princes 
and  rulers,  their  excesses,  their  excessive  expenditures,  their 
amours,  their  luxurious  dissipations. 

He  related  many  curious  legends  among  which  Solomon 
appeared  as  a  conspicuous  figure.  At  last  he  related  the 
following  : 

"  Some  fifty  years  ago,  a  traveler  was  engaged  in  explor- 
ing the  ruins  of  the  temple  in  Jerusalem.  He  found  what 
seemed  a  choked-up  well,  which  he  opened,  and  discovered 
a  passage  leading  several  hundred  feet  through  the  solid 
rock,  and  which  terminated  in  a  square  chamber,  where  the 
passage  apparently  ended. 

"  He  examined  every  portion  of  this  room,  and  at  length 
found  some  hieroglyphics  engraved  on  a  sunken  panel. 


60  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

These  he  deciphered,  and  found  himself  the  possessor  of  a 
valuable  secret." 

Here  my  vis-a-vis  stopped  speaking,  as  if  his  story  were 
complete. 

" Is  that  all?"  I  asked. 

' '  No  ;  but  what  followed  is  so  mysterious  and  incredible 
that  you  wouldn't  believe  it  if  I  were  to  tell  you." 

My  curiosity  —  as  he  probably  intended  it  should  be  — 
was  powerfully  stimulated  by  this  maneuver. 

1 '  Oh,  I  can  believe  anything  that  you  can.  What  was 
the  secret  that  he  discovered  ? ' ' 

His  story  in  brief  was  that  the  antiquarian  learned  the 
secret  of  a  concealed  trap-door  to  a  stairway  leading  to  a 
room  underneath  the  one  in  which  he  stood,  and  in  which 
he  found  a  stone  chest  containing  a  metallic  plate  on 
which  various  characters  were  graved.  This  plate  he  con- 
cealed in  his  clothing,  and,  after  closing  up  the  entrance, 
left  the  place. 

* '  Well,  what  became  of  him,  and  what  was  engraved  on 
the  plate?" 

He  looked  all  around  as  if  there  might  be  a  strange  list- 
ener, and  then  said : 

' '  It  was  a  recipe  for  making  gold  ! ' ' 

1  'And  what  became  of  the  antiquarian  ?  ' ' 

"  See  here  !  "  and  his  voice  sank  to  a  low  whisper.  "I'll 
tell  you  something  if  you'll  swear  never  to  reveal  it.  Will 
you?" 

' '  Yes  ;  I  promise  to  keep  the  secret. ' ' 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  6i 

He  put  his  lips  close  to  my  ear  and  whispered : 
"  In  Upper  Michigan,  in  a  locality  covered  for  miles  with 
timber  and  rocks,  which  no  human  being  can  penetrate 
without  a  guide,  there  lives  a  man  so  old  that  no  one  can 
guess  his  age.  He  is  believed  to  have  lived  there  a  hundred 
years.  He  lives  there  entirely  alone,  and  no  one  has  ever 
visited  him.  Once  a  year  he  appears  at  some  point  where 
he  purchases  supplies,  which  he  pays  for  always  in  gold  — 
in  twenty-dollar  pieces,  bright  and  new,  just  like  these." 
And  he  pulled  a  handful  of  double-eagles  from  the  pocket  of 
his  trousers. 

"Are  these  that  you  have  made  by  him  ?  " 
1 '  Every  one  of  them  !  "  he  replied,  as  he  tossed  them  in 
the  sunshine,  through  which  they  fell  in  a  shimmering  cas- 
cade, whose  golden  hues  mingled  harmoniously  with  the 
green  of  the  grass. 

"Why,  that's  counterfeiting,  isn't  it?" 
"  No,  sir  !     There's  no  difference  between  these  and  those 
coined  by  the  United  States.     If  they  are  exactly  the  same, 
who  is  defrauded  by  their  circulation  ? ' ' 

I  expressed  some  doubts  as  to  their  likeness  to  the  gold 
coined  by  the  Government.  I  thought  that  an  expert  would 
perhaps  be  able  to  distinguish  the  difference. 

' '  Wait  till  to-morrow  and  I  will  convince  you  ! ' ' 
The  next  day  he  purchased  tickets  to  Battle  Creek  and 
we  went  there  on  the  first  train.  We  went  directly  to  a 
shoe-store,  where  he  ordered  a  pair  of  shoes  and  paid  for 
them  with  one  of  his  double-eagles.  The  proprietor  gave 
him  the  change  without  hesitation. 


62  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

"  He  may  not  be  a  judge  of  coin,"  I  said,  after  we  had 
left  the  establishment. 

"Well,  let's  try  an  expert." 

We  entered  a  bank,  and  he  threw  several  of  the  pieces  on 
the  counter. 

' '  Please  give  me  change  for  one  of  these,  and  look  them 
over,  as  I  have  reason  to  think  some  of  them  may  be  bogus." 
The  banker  weighed  them,  and  applied  an  acid  test. 
' '  They  are  all  right.     If  you  are  afraid  of  them  I  will 
take  them  off  your  hands,  and  give  you  currency  for  them." 
' '  Thanks  1     I  only  wished  to  be  satisfied  as  to  their  being 
genuine." 

I  was  astonished  at  the  outcome,  and  convinced  that  the 
coins  were  all  right. 

And  now  a  new  phase  was  developed  by  my  associate. 
At  first  he  began  to  enlarge  on  the  enjoyment  and  splen- 
•dors  of  a  career  with  illimitable  wealth  at  one's  command. 
Then  he  advanced  a  step,  and  suggested  that  we  should 
obtain  some  of  the  gold,  and  then  go  our  way  through  the 
world  rejoicing. 

He  was  in  a  position  to  obtain  all  that  we  could  use  for  a 
mere  song.  I  had  told  him  about  the  panorama  venture, 
and  he  suggested  that  we  should  purchase  a  wagon  and 
horses,  redeem  the  painting,  and  then  travel,  ostensibly  to 
exhibit  the  panorama,  but  in  reality  to  distribute  the  coin. 
"  I  can  tell  you  how  you  can  carry  all  the  gold  we  want. 
We  can  bore  holes  in  the  inner  side  of  the  bar  that  sup- 
ports the  box  of  the  wagon,  and  fill  them  with  twenty-dollar 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  63 

pieces.  Nobody  would  even  think  of  looking  in  such  a 
place." 

Thus  did  he  ply  me  for  several  days.  I  listened  to  him 
with  a  lively  curiosity.  His  plan  seemed  safe,  feasible,  and 
sure  to  be  productive  of  unlimited  wealth.  Often  in  look- 
ing back  at  this  period  do  I  wonder  that  I  did  not  yield  to 
his  glittering  temptation.  I  was  young,  impressible,  and 
entirely  alone.  I  had  failed  disastrously  in  business,  and 
saw  nothing  to  hope  for  in  the  frowning  future. 

I  was  in  that  morbid  condition  when  I  felt  as  if  I  cared 
for  nobody,  and  nobody  cared  for  me.  For  some  reason, 
however,  I  never  reached  the  consenting-point.  I  was 
interested  in  his  plans,  and  with  no  conscientious  scruples 
heard  him  discuss  measures  for  placing  his  coin  on  the 
public. 

One  morning  he  was  missing,  and  I  learned  that  he  had 
left  on  an  Eastern  train. 

During  the  siege  of  Fort  Donalson  I  happened  to  run 
across  a  regiment  of  Michigan  sharpshooters,  and  went  into 
the  sutler's  tent  to  secure  some  supplies.  The  person  in 
charge  I  recognized  as  my  old  acquaintance  with  the  supply 
of  double-eagles  and  the  antiquarian  in  the  wilderness. 

"Hello,  old  man,"  I  remarked,  "  how  is  the  gold  busi- 
ness ?" 

He  stared  at  me  for  a  moment,  then  a  look  of  recognition 
flashed  into  his  eyes,  and,  with  a  roar  of  laughter,  he  said  : 

"Oh,  it's  the  panorama  man!"  And  he  continued  to 
laugh  until  his  cachinnation  became  almost  a  convulsion. 


64  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

1 '  Still  spreading  the  eagles  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Oh,  eagles  be  damned." 

' '  What  do  you  mean  ?  ' ' 

"Are  you  still  a  fool  ?  Haven't  you  ever  tumbled  to  my 
racket  up  there  in  Michigan  ? ' ' 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  have,  even  to  this  day.  What  was  it, 
anyhow  ? ' ' 

' '  You  must  be  the  biggest  idiot  in  the  world  !  Honest, 
now,  don't  you  know  what  I  was  up  to  ?  " 

"  Honest,  now,  I  don't.     What  was  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  by  G— ,  that  beats  me  !  I'll  tell  you,  although 
it  doesn't  seem  possible  that  any  man  with  a  pinch  of  sense 
would  have  failed  to  have  '  got  on  '  to  the  job.  At  that 
time  Michigan  was  flooded  with  counterfeit  money,  espe- 
cially along  the  line  of  the  Michigan  Central.  You  came  to 
town  an  entire  stranger  and  were  looked  on  as  a  suspicious 
character.  I  was  a  Government  agent  and  was  sent  down 
to  look  you  up." 

'  'And  the  bogus  money  ?  ' ' 

"All  genuine  coin.  Of  course  the  bank  could  find  no 
fault  with  it." 

"And  the  antiquarian  up  among  the  rocks  ?  " 

"Only  a  blind  !  I'll  be  plain  with  you.  I  intended  to 
get  you  into  the  business  of  shoving  the  *  queer. '  If  you 
had  consented  I  would  have  seen  that  you  had  a  supply, 
and  as  soon  as  you  had  started  you  would  have  been 
'pinched.'  The  consequences  would  have  been  that  now 
you  would  be  about  the  middle  of  your  term  in  Jackson." 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  65 

I  gave  him  a  piece  of  my  mind  in  the  most  vituperative 
and  blasphemous  English  at  my  command,  and  then  rode 
away. 

I  wish  to  add  that  this  article  embodies  facts  in  my  per- 
sonal experience  and  that  they  occurred  substantially  as 
presented,  in  June,  1858,  in  and  about  the  date  on  which  I 
went  from  Kalamazoo. 


XVI. 

ANOTHER  CHANGK  OF  BASK. 

I  HAD  a  dollar  or  so  left  when  my  friend  went  away,  which 
was  the  remnant  of  some  small  sums  I  had  borrowed  from 
him,  but  this  did  not  last  long,  and  I  was  soon  again  penni- 
less. 

The  Fourth  of  July  came  along  and  brought  with  it 
freedom  from  the  slavery  which  had  so  long  held  me  in  the 
little  town.  The  Fourth  of  July  furnished  the  occasion  for 
my  emancipation,  and  a  young  woman  was  the  principal, 
and  jealousy  the  assisting  motive. 

There  was  a  celebration  of  the  natal  anniversary.  There 
was  a  procession  headed  by  the  soldiery,  a  march  to  a  grove, 
an  address  and  a  military  volley  from  the  soldiers. 

It  may  have  been  my  distingue  appearance,  with  a 
cane  for  a  sword,  and  one  side  of  my  straw  hat  pinned  up 
a  la  militaire,  which  attracted  the  admiration  of  a  very 
pretty  young  lady  among  the  spectators  ;  but,  whatever  the 
reason,  immediately  after  the  crowd  had  separated,  I  was 
waited  on  by  a  young  clerk,  whom  I  knew  to  be  "  soft  "  on 
the  young  woman  in  question.  She  and  I  had  strolled  back 
together  from  the  grounds  and  appeared  to  be  in  the  closest 
of  confidential  conversations. 

66 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  67 

1 '  When  are  going  to  leave  town  ? ' '  asked  the  young  man 
with  a  scowl. 

"  As  soon  as  I  can  get  some  money  from  the  Bast." 

"  Is  that  all  that  keeps  you  here  ?  " 

"That's  all." 

"If  you  had  the  money  would  you  leave  soon  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  I  could  catch  the  first  train." 

' (  How  much  would  you  require  ? ' ' 

' '  Five  dollars  will  take  me  where  I  wish  to  go,  and  will 
do  it  in  royal  style." 

' '  Come  over  to  the  store  ! ' ' 

I  went. 

He  fished  five  dollars  from  out  the  money-drawer,  and 
looked  at  his  watch,  and  said  : 

' '  The  train  for  Chicago  is  due  in  twenty  minutes.  Here 
is  the  five  dollars.  I  will  go  down  to  the  depot  with  you 
and  see  you  off. ' ' 

He  was  on  time.  He  saw  me  on  the  train,  into  a  seat, 
and  only  left  after  the  train  was  under  motion.  I  looked 
out  of  the  window  and  saw  him  on  the  platform  watching 
the  receding  train.  He  had  evidently  determined  to  watch 
me  out  of  sight. 

I  reached  Chicago  after  dark.  I  bought  a  light  supper, 
and,  counting  the  balance  of  my  funds,  found  I  had  just 
enough  remaining  to  purchase  a  ticket  to  Klgin,  the  place  I 
wished  to  reach.  A  serious  consideration  presented  itself. 
If  I  paid  out  only  a  portion  of  the  amount,  I  should  have 


68  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 


to  walk  some  part  of  the  thirty-six  miles  which  separated 
me  from  my  destination. 

I  concluded  that  walking  under  a  burning  July  sun  was 
undesirable.  I  had  heard  of  the  hospitable  John  B.  Drake 
of  the  Tremont  House,  and  thither  at  bed-time  I  went, 
registered,  and  was  shown  a  room.  Nothing  was  said  about 
any  compensation  when  I  retired,  and  in  the  morning,  when 
I  left,  I  observed  the  same  reticence. 

When  I  found  myself  in  Elgin,  I  went  to  the  house  of  my 
father-in-law,  Mr.  John  Morse,  a  well-to-do  lumber  mer- 
chant. He  did  not  seem  greatly  overjoyed  to  see  me.  In 
fact,  while  on  the  News  in  Davenport,  I  had,  without  any 
preliminary  notice,  drawn  a  draft  on  him  for  a  considerable 
sum  to  meet  a  pressing  payment  on  our  new  Guernsey 
press.  He  had  honored  the  draft,  and  had  gone  to  Daven- 
port, and  secured  himself  by  a  mortgage  on  the  press  ;  but 
he  did  not  like  the  summary  and  unauthorized  manner  in 
which  I  had  made  on  him  the  requisition  for  funds. 

I  had  intended  to  visit  him  till  I  could  find  something  to 
do.  He  was  quite  cool,  and  had  a  good  deal  to  say  of  the 
hard  times,  of  his  losses  in  lumber,  and  how  he  believed 
that  he  would  have  to  go  into  his  Wisconsin  pinery,  and 
chop  wood,  in  order  to  keep  his  family  from  suffering. 

At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  he  informed  me  that  there  was 
an  active  demand  for  harvest  hands,  and  that  any  able- 
bodied  young  man  was  able  to  earn  enough  at  least  to  pay 
his  board. 

I  took  the  hint,  except  to  the  extent  of  hiring  out  as  a 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  69 

harvest  hand.  I  went  to  an  acquaintance  in  the  town,  and 
related  the  situation,  stating  that  I  was  sure  of  getting  work 
in  time,  if,  in  the  meantime,  I  could  have  a  place  to  stay. 

"  Come  right  home  with  me  and  stay  all  summer,  and  all 
winter  if  necessary!"  responded  the  gentleman,  a  Mr. 
Simeon  L,anehart,  whose  generous  action  I  shall  never  for- 
get. 

I  found  in  Elgin  a  young  law  student,  Thomas  W.  Gros- 
venor,  who  afterward,  during  the  war,  joined  the  Twelfth 
Illinois  Cavalry,  lost  an  arm  and  was  promoted  to  a  colo- 
nelcy. Grosvenor  and  I  soon  became  acquainted,  then  warm 
friends. 

We  were  ardent  Democrats,  and  both  admirers  and  sup- 
porters of  Stephen  A.  Douglas  ;  the  senatorial  campaign 
between  the  ' '  L,ittle  Giant ' '  and  Lincoln  was  at  full  tide, 
and,  at  the  suggestion  of  some  ardent  devotees  of  the  former, 
Grosvenor  and  myself  started  a  campaign  weekly  in  the  inter- 
ests of  Douglas. 

We  had  neither  of  us  a  dollar  in  money.  An  enthusiastic 
Democratic  printer  offered  to  take  the  risk  of  publication  for 
what  he  could  make  out  of  the  circulation  and  advertise- 
ments. 

The  greed  for  railway  passes  and  the  alacrity  with  which 
the  demand  was  responded  to  was  shown  by  an  incident 
when  the  Campaign  Weekly  was  started.  When  the  first 
side,  that  is,  the  first  and  fourth  pages,  had  gone  to  press,  I 
took  one  of  these  copies,  with  the  second  and  third  pages 
blank,  went  to  Chicago  to  the  office  of  the  superintendent  of 


70  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

the  old  Galena  road,  showed  him  the  advertisement  of  the 
time-table  of  his  line,  and  asked  for  the  usual  courtesy. 
He  opened  the  paper  and  saw  the  two  unprinted  pages  and 
expressed  something  in  the  nature  of  an  objection  to  issuing 
passes  on  a  half-printed  newspaper. 

I  assured  him  the  other  half  was  probably  already  printed, 
whereupon  he  wrote  out  two  season  passes  over  the  road, 
one  for  Grosvenor  and  the  other  for  myself. 

The  Campaign  Weekly  probably  did  not  assist  Douglas 
very  materially,  but  it  was  a  publication  with  a  venomous 
sting,  and  made  it  very  hot  for  the  Republicans.  There 
were  then  scarcely  a  baker's  dozen  Democrats  in  the 
vicinity  ;  the  Weekly  fostered  their  growth,  and  laid  the 
foundations  of  the  potent  and  substantial  Democratic  ele- 
ment now  existing  in  Kane  County. 

The  pecuniary  outcome  from  the  venture  was  not  a  for- 
tune. My  sole  return  for  three  months'  hard  work  was 
glory  and  a  pair  of  shoes. 

The  Campaign  Weekly  had  one  news  ' c  scoop ' '  over  all 
the  other  newspapers.  When  the  news  came  the  second 
time,  in  1858,  that  the  Atlantic  cable  was  working,  a  private 
dispatch  announcing  the  fact  came  late  at  night  to  a  gen- 
tleman in  Klgin.  The  Weekly  was  all  made  up  ;  the  press 
was  stopped,  the  news  inserted,  and  the  next  morning  the 
Weekly  was  on  the  streets  three  hours  in  advance  of  the 
Chicago  papers  with  the  same  information. 

During  the  summer  of  my  stay  in  Klgin  I  studied  the 
theory  and  practice  of  short-hand  and  succeeded  in  attaining 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  71 

a  proficiency  of  one  hundred  words  a  minute  —  not  enough 
for  verbatim  reporting,  but  of  immense  value  in  after  years 
for  the  taking  of  notes. 

While  in  Elgin,  I  wrote  to  newspapers  in  Chicago,  Cleve- 
land, Pittsburg,  St.  I^ouis,  St.  Paul,  and  many  others,  ask- 
ing for  work  as  an  editorial  writer,  paragrapher,  news 
editor  or  reporter,  and  not  until  in  November  did  I  get  a 
single  answer,  which  was  from  the  editor  of  the  Dubuque 
Herald,  stating  that  he  was  in  need  of  a  city  or  ' '  local ' ' 
editor. 

The  instant  I  read  this  letter  I  had  a  conviction  that  my 
luck  had  at  last  changed  and  that  the  long  year  of  poverty, 
tramping,  suffering,  humiliation  and  degradation  was  about 
to  be  succeeded  by  a  better  life. 

I  had  my  pass  over  the  Chicago  and  Galena  Railway  ;  I 
borrowed  from  my  friend  I^anehart  a  dollar  for  incidental 
expenses,  and  left  that  night  for  Dubuque,  happier  than  I 
had  been  at  any  time  since  the  failure  of  the  Davenport 
News.  I  saw  only  success  and  prosperity  in  the  future. 

Unfortunately  my  disappointments  were  not  quite  all 
ended.  When  we  reached  Freeport,  I  found  that  we  had  to 
change  cars  onto  an  Illinois  Central  train  which  ran  to  Dun- 
leith,  opposite  Dubuque,  on  the  Mississippi  River.  When  the 
Central  conductor  examined  my  pass  he  informed  me  that 
it  was  not  good  on  his  road,  and  that  I  would  have  to  pay 
fare  to  Duluth. 

I  was  thunderstruck,  and  for  an  instant  there  was  a 
total  revulsion  in  my  late  hopeful  condition,  and  it  seemed  as 


72  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

if  there  had  been  only  a  momentary  rift  in  the  clouds,  and 
that  the  old  storm  and  darkness  were  about  to  settle  once 
again  over  the  sky  of  my  life. 

' '  This  is  bad  for  me, ' '  I  said  to  him.  ' '  I  supposed  the 
pass  was  good  to  Dubuque,  where  I  wish  to  go.  I  haven't 
money  enough  to  pay  fare,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do. 
Shall  I  have  to  get  off?" 

"  That's  the  rule  of  the  road,"  was  his  answer. 

I  looked  out  of  the  window.  It  was  a  black,  rainy  Novem- 
ber night.  ' '  It  would  be  hard  on  a  dog  to  be  turned  out 
such  a  night  as  this." 

"  That's  so,  but  it  won't  be  quite  as  bad  as  that.  You 
will  have  to  get  off  at  a  station." 

I  gazed  earnestly  at  the  conductor.  He  was  a  young 
fellow  about  my  own  age,  and  did  not  seem  case-hardened 
like  an  old  employe. 

"Let  me  tell  you  something,"  I  said.  "I  am  a  news- 
paper man  and  have  been  out  of  work  a  whole  year.  I  am 
on  my  way  to  Dubuque  to  take  a  place  on  a  paper  there. 
Are  you  acquainted  in  Dubuque  ?  ' ' 

' '  Yes,  I  live  there.     What  paper  are  you  going  to  ?  " 

"  The  Herald.     Here  is  Mr.  Dorr's  letter." 

He  read  it. 

"Now,"  said  I,  "I  am  going  to  see  the  Herald  in  the 
morning.  When  do  you  go  back  ? ' ' 

' '  To-morrow  night. ' ' 

"  Can't  you  take  me  through,  and  I  will  square  it  with 
you  just  as  soon  as  I  get  to  work  ?  " 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  73 

"  You  may  not  get  to  work  ;  there's  many  a  slip  " 

""  Don't  say  that !  I'm  like  the  boy  digging  for  the  wood- 
chuck,  who  must  have  the  animal  because  he  was  out  of 
meat." 

He  consented,  although  with  the  assurance  that,  if  the  fact 
were  to  come  to  the  ears  of  the  company,  it  would  cost  him 
his  situation.  I  trust  that  the  great  Illinois  Central  cor- 
poration has  never  heard  of  the  occurrence,  which  took 
place  thirty-two  years  ago,  and  this  is  the  first  time  I  have 
ever  given  it  publicity. 


XVII. 

A  GLEAM  OF  SUNLIGHT. 

I  CALLED  at  once  at  the  Herald  office,  and  found  Joseph  B. 
Dorr,  the  editor,  then  one  of  the  most  famous  in  Northern 
Iowa,  and  afterwards,  during  the  Civil  War,  a  courageous 
warrior.  He  was  a  well-built  man  of  about  thirty  years  of 
age,  light  as  to  hair  and  complexion,  smooth-shaven,  with 
heavy  lips,  gray  eyes,  good-sized  head,  and  an  expression 
at  once  firm,  pleasant  and  benevolent. 

He  received  me  cordially  when  I  gave  him  my  name  ;  in 
fact,  with  a  most  unexpected  warmth  which  I  did  not  com- 
prehend until,  a  little  later,  I  met  my  old  friend  Captain 
James  May,  of  Davenport,  who  told  me  that  he  had  seen 
Mr.  Dorr,  and,  learning  that  he  had  written  for  me,  had  put 
in  a  good  word  in  my  behalf. 

We  were  not  long  in  reaching  a  conclusion.  I  declined 
to  name  any  price  for  my  services,  having  firmly  determined 
before  coming  that  the  matter  of  price  should  cut  no  figure. 
My  aim  was  to  secure  a  foothold  in  journalism  which,  once 
obtained,  would  satisfactorily  arrange  the  amount  of  com- 
pensation. 

His  first  offer  was  ten  dollars  a  week,  which  I  accepted 
without  an  instant's  hesitation.  I  think  it  would  have  made 

74 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  75 

no  difference  in  my  conclusion  if  he  had  offered  me  half  the 
sum.  It  was  a  part  of  the  understanding  that  I  should 
board  in  his  family,  paying  a  stipulated  amount  per  week 
for  myself  and  wife. 

I  have  had  several  engagements  since  that  period,  many 
of  them  for  several  times  the  same  figure,  and,  I  feel  en- 
tirely certain,  none  of  them  afforded  as  supreme  a  satisfaction 
as  this  ten-dollar-a-week  contract  as  city  editor  of  the 
Dubuque  Herald. 

The  day  before  I  began  my  work  was  the  last  one  of  en- 
forced idleness  that  occurred  in  over  thirty  years. 

Dubuque  was  then  —  November,  1858  —  a  characteristic 
Mississippi  River  town.  It  adjoined  a  large  and  rich  min- 
ing region  whose  leaden  pigs  shone  in  profusion  over  the 
landing,  awaiting  shipment.  There  were  two  English  news- 
papers, both  daily,  the  Herald,  Democratic  ;  and  the  Times, 
Republican,  presided  over  by  Gen.  Frank  W.  Palmer,  later 
Public  Printer  for  Iowa,  editor  of  the  Inter- Ocean  and 
Postmaster  of  Chicago,  who,  when  in  Dubuque,  was  assisted 
by  an  ex-Baptist  clergyman,  Jesse  Clemens.  The  Herald 
had  as  an  assistant  at  first  a  Scotchman,  and  a  close  thinker 
and  able  writer,  McNulta,  and  later,  the  famous  Dennis 
Mahony,  of  whom  more  anon. 

Dubuque  at  that  period  was  a  pretty  ' '  tough ' '  town  ; 
the  laborers  in  the  mines,  the  wharf-rats  and  various 
hangers-on  made  a  disturbing  element,  and  crimes,  includ- 
ing robberies  and  homicides,  were  not  uncommon.  I  was 
present  at  no  less  than  three  public  hangings  within  two 


76  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

years.     Political  animosities  were  bitter,  and  sometimes  re- 
sulted in  fist,  club  or  pistol  conflicts. 

The  bar  included  some  men  of  prominence,  such  as  Ben. 
M.  Samuels,  a  gigantic  product  of  Virginia,  versed  in  law, 
a  powerful  pleader  before  a  jury  and  an  unrivaled  orator 
before  a  crowd  of  people.  There  was  William  T.  Barker, 
for  many  years  State's  Attorney,  and  a  man  of  marvelous 
modesty  and  great  legal  learning,  and  who  never  failed  to 
chase  a  criminal  to  the  gallows  as  his  offense  deserved. 

Wm.  B.  Allison  was  a  resident ;  a  smooth-faced  young 
man  with  long,  light  hair  and  the  neatness  and  expression 
of  a  Presbyterian  preacher.  He  had  a  brother  there,  a  real 
estate  agent,  one  like  and  unlike  the  future  Senator, 
paunchy  where  the  coming  official  was  thin,  wasteful  where 
he  was  economical,  open  and  communicative  where  the 
presidential  aspirant  of  1888  was  secretive  and  Jesuitical. 

Peter  Kiene,  Jr. ,  the  son  of  German-Swiss  parents,  a  lad 
of  thirteen  years  of  age,  was  an  apprentice  in  the  Herald 
office.  At  sixteen  he  was  a  private  soldier,  being  large  for 
his  years,  and  soon  after  participated  in  several  battles  in 
Tennessee.  He  was  captured  at  Corinth,  and 'was  taken  to 
Andersonville,  where  he  remained  a  year,  and  would  have 
died  from  neglect  and  starvation  had  it  not  been  for  a  young 
lady  living  in  the  vicinity. 

This  lady,  in  company  with  a  party,  visited  the  prison, 
and  had  her  attention  attracted  by  the  youthful  appearance 
of  Peter.  She  questioned  him,  and  learned  his  place  of 
residence. 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  77 

' '  Is  that  anywhere  near  Rock  Island  ? ' '  she  asked. 

' ' Just  a  few  miles  farther  up  the  Mississippi  River. 

' '  I  have  a  brother  who  is  a  prisoner  at  Rock  Island. 
Now,  I  will  be  glad  to  supply  your  necessities  if  your 
people  will  do  something  for  him." 

Peter  wrote  the  facts  to  Peter  Kiene,  Sr.,  who  at  once 
went  to  Rock  Island,  and,  being  a  man  of  large  wealth  and 
liberal  in  his  nature,  cared  for  the  Confederate  prisoner  in 
first-class  style,  and,  the  sister  reciprocated  in  the  case  of 
Peter,  Jr. 

Peter,  Jr. ,  did  not  marry  his  Southern  benefactress,  as  re- 
quired in  all  well-regulated  romances.  He  selected  a 
Northern  girl.  He  is  now  a  prosperous  business  man,  and 
one  of  the  most  popular  and  respected  citizens  of  the 
"Key  City." 

H.  H.  Heath,  a  stately  person  of  the  old  school  of  man- 
ners, was  Postmaster,  being  an  outsider,  sent  to  the  town  by 
Buchanan.  Captain  Eli  Parker,  grandson  of  Red  Jacket, 
lived  in  Dubuque,  and  superintended  the  construction  of  the 
Custom-house.  One  of  the  most  notable  residents  of  the 
town  was  Gen.  George  W.  Jones,  whose  efforts  gave  Iowa 
its  territorial  organization,  who  was  contemporary  with 
Clay,  Webster,  and  other  distinguished  statesmen,  who  was 
a  second  in  the  Cilly  duel,  who  was  Minister  to  Bogota 
under  Buchanan,  and  occupant  of  the  Bastile  under  Seward. 

At  this  date  General  Jones  is  still  living.  He  is  almost  a 
centenarian  ;  he  is  erect  as  a  pine,  active  as  a  boy  in  his 
movements,  possessed  of  all  his  faculties,  and  in  many 
essential  respects  the  most  notable  living  American. 


XVIII. 

EXPERIENCES  IN  DUBUQUE. 

I  AM  free  to  assert  that  this  period  of  my  professional 
career  is  one  I  recall  with  the  greatest  satisfaction.  I 
worked  very  hard  from  nine  in  the  morning  till  the  paper 
went  to  press  at  2  A.  M. 

A  ' '  local ' '  editor  in  a  town  of  the  dimensions  of  Dubuque 
or  Davenport  is  the  greatest  man  in  the  community  if  he 
knows  his  business.  Every  door  is  open  to  him.  He  is 
every  man's  friend ;  he  is  on  the  free-list  to  all  entertain- 
ments ;  his  hat  is  ' '  chalked  ' '  on  all  excursions  and  rail- 
ways ;  he  is  the  universal  referee,  whether  at  cock-fights, 
billiard  matches,  church  raffles  ;  he  is  petted,  flattered, 
coddled,  overwhelmed  with  compliments,  new  hats,  buggy- 
rides,  cords  of  fire-wood,  suits  of  clothes. 

I  flatter  myself  that  I  made  myself  "solid"  with 
Dubuque  ;  at  least  such  is  the  assurance  of  the  people  of 
that  city.  I  had  only  one  fight  —  if  the  occurrence  may  be 
called  a  fight —  during  my  residence,  which  speaks  well  for 
my  popularity  in  a  city  in  which  knives  and  pistols  were 
common  and  assaults  of  frequent  occurrence.  This  sole 
contest  was  insignificant,  and  had  a  ludicrous  outcome. 

I  had  lampooned  or  in  some  other  way  hurt  the  feelings 

78 


'2HIRTY-PIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  79 

of  a  man  who  gave  it  out  that  he  was  going  to  thrash  me. 
A  couple  of  nights  after,  I  went  into  a  barber-shop  to  get 
shaved  preparatory  to  attending  a  social  party  at  the  Larimer 
House.  While  standing  there,  with  one  of  my  hands  in  my 
overcoat  pocket,  the  irate  man  entered,  and,  without  a  word, 
suddenly  seized  me  by  the  shoulders  and  gave  me  a  push. 
My  legs  encountered  the  foot-rest  of  the  barber's  chair,  and 
I  tripped  over  it,  striking  against  some  shelves  on  the  wall, 
and  carrying  a  cascade  of  soaps,  essences,  shaving-cups, 
razors  and  hair-brushes  with  me  to  the  floor. 

My  assailant  then  left  the  place.  I  was  cut  by  pieces  of 
glass  on  the  side  of  the  neck,  which  was  repaired  in  a 
couple  of  moments  by  a  drug-clerk  and  a  piece  of  court- 
plaster.  I  then  went  immediately  to  the  Larimer  House, 
and  entered  the  main  hall,  where  a  large  company  was 
assembled. 

My  enemy  stood  in  a  group  of  ladies,  among  whom  was 
his  wife,  to  whom  he  was  evidently  relating  something  of  a 
very  thrilling  nature.  As  some  friend  told  me,  he  had  just 
before  entered  the  room  with  a  hurried  step  and  marched  up 
to  the  group  of  ladies. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  his  wife,  as  she  noticed 
his  unusual  agitation. 

"Nothing  much,  only  I  just  had  an  encounter  with 
Wilkie?" 

"  Good  heavens,  Colonel,  are  you  hurt?  " 

"Not  a  scratch!" 

"  How's  the  other  man  ?  " 


8o  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

(l  Pretty  bad  !  He  won't  get  outdoors  in  less  than  six 
months ! " 

"  He  may  die  I  "  said  a  sympathetic  listener.  "  Why,  he 
must  be  dead  already,  for  there's  his  ghost  !  "  as  I  appeared 
within  six  feet  of  where  the  group  were  chatting. 

The  face  of  the  valorous  Colonel  fell,  and  there  was  a 
scream  of  laughter  among  the  feminine  listeners  as  they  saw 
I  was  unhurt. 

This  was  the  only  instance  of  a  personal  collision  that  I 
had  a  part  in  during  my  three  years  as  ' ( local  editor  "of 
the  Herald. 

Dorr  was  a  very  positive,  obstinate,  courageous  man,  and 
showed  in  his  editorial  career  what  he  afterwards  proved  as 
a  soldier  —  that  he  was  beyond  fear  and  made  no  count  of 
the,  odds  against  him.  One  day,  Mulkern,  a  young  lawyer, 
took  mortal  offense  at  something  in  the  Herald,  and,  with  a 
loaded  revolver,  climbed  to  the  editorial  floor. 

He  blusteringly  demanded  a  retraction,  which  was 
refused,  and  then,  pulling  his  pistol,  advanced  toward  the 
editor,  who  sprang  to  his  feet,  seized  an  old  umbrella,  and, 
with  it  uplifted  high  in  air,  charged  straight  on  the  mouth 
of  the  gun.  Mulkern  was  so  demoralized  by  the  fierce  rush 
of  his  frowning  antogonist  that  he  fired  at  a  venture,  or 
under  excitement,  and  evidently  without  aim,  for  the  bullet 
lodged  high  above  Dorr's  head  in  the  ceiling. 

Mulkern  then  turned  and  flew  down  the  stairway,  pur- 
sued by  the  editor,  who  hammered  him  on  the  head,  back 
and  shoulders  till  the  fugitive  reached  safety  in  the  street. 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  81 

On  another  occasion  Dorr,  while  passing  through  the 
Court-house,  was  attacked  by  two  brothers,  named  Quig- 
ley ,  both  of  whom  were  powerful  men  in  the  prime  of  life. 
Both  threw  themselves  on  him,  and,  after  a  furious  struggle, 
all  three  went  to  the  floor,  one  of  the  Quigleys  underneath, 
Dorr  next,  and  the  third  man  on  top.  All  three  scrambled 
to  their  feet,  when  Dorr  grappled  one  of  the  others  and 
dashed  him  with  such  force  to  the  floor  that  he  lay  without 
motion. 

At  this  moment  the  other  Quigley  drew  a  navy  revolver 
from  his  pocket,  balanced  it  on  his  knee  to  cock  it,  and  had 
just  raised  the  hammer  to  full  cock  when  he  was  seized  from 
behind  by  a  gentleman  who  happened  to  pass,  and  was  dis- 
armed. The  one  who  thus  opportunely  saved  the  life  of  the 
editor  was  Abram  Williams,  now  the  wealthy  manager  of 
a  prominent  insurance  corporation  in  Chicago  and  a  well- 
known  citizen. 

I  perpetrated  an  article  during  my  occupation  of  the  local 
editorship  of  the  Herald  which  is  a  matter  of  comment  to 
this  day,  and  which  created  more  excitement  at  the  time  of 
publication  than  the  breaking  out  of  the  Civil  War. 

There  was  a  large  nursery  on  the  bluffs,  owned  by  a  young 
man,  since  dead,  who,  in  1860,  married  the  eldest  daughter 
of  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  respected  families  of  the  city. 
A  few  days  after  his  return  from  his  wedding  tour,  he  invited 
me  to  visit  his  nursery  and  notice  some  additions  and  im- 
provements. 

When  I  reached  the  place  I  found  that  the  bride  was 


82  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

present.  She  was  a  tall,  stately  woman,  of  great  beauty 
and  an  elegant  carriage. 

In  my  article  I  wove  in  an  elaborate  description,  in 
botanical  language,  of  a  rare  plant  which  the  owner  had 
lately  introduced  into  his  grounds,  and  this  at  once  attracted 
the  attention  of  every  reader  in  the  city  fond  of  flowers.  A 
procession  was  soon  formed,  which  climbed  the  bluffs  to 
the  nursery  grounds,  in  search  of  slips  from  this  marvelous 
plant. 

The  proprietor  was  non-plussed  ;  he  had  no  idea  as  to 
the  growth  sought  for,  and  the  English  gardener,  while 
admitting  that  the  botanical  description  of  the  rttysterious 
product  was  that  of  a  wonderful  plant,  could  give  no  idea  as 
to  what  it  was  or  where  in  the  grounds  it  was  to  be  found. 

Scores  of  letters  came  to  the  paper  from  a  distance,  asking 
for  information  as  to  this  plant,  its  name  and  cost.  Many 
people  came  to  see  me  after  learning  that  I  had  seen  and 
described  it.  No  one  was  ever  given  any  satisfactory 
information. 

The  mystery  continued  for  some  two  weeks,  and  the 
1 '  Mysterious  Plant ' '  was  the  theme  of  universal  excitement 
and  discussion. 

I  thought  the  joke  so  good  that  I  wanted  some  one  to 
enjoy  it  with  me,  and  one  day,  over  a  glass  of  beer,  I  com- 
municated to  "  Old  Alf  Thomas,"  as  the  city  editor  of  the 
Times  was  popularly  known,  the  secret  of  the  plant  descrip- 
tion, doing  it  under  a  solemn  pledge  from  him  that  he  would 
not  reveal  it. 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  83 

The  very  next  morning  the  Times  had  an  article  of  a 
column,  with  big  head-lines,  revealing  the  mystery  of  the 
plant,  and,  for  the  first  time,  the  public  learned  that  the 
description  was  that  of  a  woman,  the  wife  of  the  proprietor 
of  the  nursery. 

"Old  Alf,"  in  order  to  make  a  point  against  a  rival, 
denounced  the  description  as  insulting  and  indecent,  which 
it  was  not  in  the  slightest  sense  except  as  interpreted  by  a 
libidinous  mind.  A  tremendous  excitement  followed  the 
revelation  of  "Old  Alf."  The  article  was  the  talk  of  the 
town  ;  it  was  said  that  the  husband  would  shoot  me  on 
sight  ;  in  fact,  in  company  with  some  friends,  he  was  in 
search  of  me  with  a  gun. 

Delegations  of  people  who  had  been  fooled  by  their 
journey  up  the  long,  steep  bluffs,  to  get  a  slip,  called  to  see 
Dorr  and  denounce  the  publication  as  an  outrage.  Still 
others,  accepting  "Old  Alfs"  moral  characterization, 
insisted  on  my  discharge. 

Dorr  was  the  most  amazed  editor  ever  called  on  for  a 
retraction  by  indignant  subscribers.  At  first,  he,  too,  was 
scandalized  and  outraged  that  his  paper  had  been,  as  he 
thought,  abused  to  further  an  unworthy  purpose. 

I  heard  he  was  mad,  and  hunted  him  up.  He  was  hot  as 
a  furnace. 

"  I  did  not  think  this  of  you  1  "  he  said,  in  a  voice  shak- 
ing with  anger.  ' '  Go  over  to  my  wife  and  get  the  bill  for 
your  board,  and  come  back  here,  and  I'll  pay  you  off !  " 

'  *  Does  that  mean  a  dismissal  ?  ' ' 


84  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OP 


' '  Well, ' '  he  said,  hesitatingly,  ' '  yes.  The  town  is  insane, 
and  something's  got  to  be  done  1  " 

"And  don't  I  have  any  show  in  the  matter?  Can't  I 
have  a  hearing  before  the  evidence  closes,  the  verdict  is  ren- 
dered, and  sentence  pronounced  ?  " 

"Why,  yes,  I  suppose  you  should  be  heard.  But  I  can't 
imagine  a  thing  you  can  say.  There  is  the  article  ;  it  shows 
for  itself." 

' '  I/et  me  give  my  view  of  it. ' ' 

I  went  over  the  article,  explaining  the  technical  botanical 
terms  in  their  application  to  a  beautiful  woman,  and  when 
I  had  finished  I  could  see  that  smiles  were  playing  behind 
his  lips,  and  his  eyes  were  gleaming  with  good  humor. 

"There  isn't  anything  vulgar  or  indecent  in  it,"  he 
said,  "  but  it  will  take  time  to  convince  the  people  of  that 
fact,  and  meanwhile  something  must  be  done  to  placate  the 
mob.  You  go  out  to  Waterloo  and  stay  out  in  that  region 
for  three  weeks.  I'll  tell  the  people  you've  gone  away.  I 
do  this  to  showT  you  how  much  I  think  of  you." 

I  went  away.  At  the  end  of  a  week  Dorr  wrote  me  to 
return ;  the  trouble  was  all  over.  I  went  back,  and  was 
received  with  an  ovation  by  the  townspeople. 

To  this  date  the  Mysterious  Plant  is  one  of  the  subjects 
of  legend  in  the  families  of  Dubuque. 

Mr.  Dorr  was  an  editor  of  ten  thousand.  He  was  as 
pure  in  his  motives  as  a  saint.  He  used  his  paper  in  the  in- 
terest of  his  party  and  of  the  community.  He  would  de- 
nounce crookedness  in  his  own  party  as  vehemently  as  in 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  85 

that  of  the  opposition.  He  was  controlled  by  no  corpora- 
tion ;  he  hated  jobs,  intrigues,  meanness,  wrong  of  every 
kind.  No  scheming  of  political  knaves  could  influence  him. 
He  was  accessible,  affable,  just.  The  public  could  always 
reach  him  ;  he  was  willing  to  listen  to  those  who  felt  them- 
selves wronged,  and  eager  to  afford  ample  reparation.  He 
did  not  hold  himself  apart  from  the  masses  ;  he  was  the  em- 
bodiment of  simplicity,  integrity  and  his  conceptions  of 
right. 

His  domestic  life  was  a  beautiful  one.  When  he  went 
home,  business  was  never  mentioned  nor  thought  of.  He 
then  occupied  himself  with  his  wife  and  children.  His 
household  arrangements  were  patriarchal.  His  venerable 
father  was  one  of  the  family  ;  an  unmarried  sister  lived 
with  him,  and  "among  others  who  gathered  about  his  table 
were  two  apprentices  in  the  printing  business  toward  whom 
he  and  his  excellent  wife  acted  the  part  of  parents.  With 
my  wife,  I  occupied  this  family  circle  for  the  greater  por- 
tion of  my  stay  in  the  city,  and  found  in  it  all  the  warmth 
and  attractions  of  a  home. 

Fancy  any  modern  editor  occupying  himself  with  the 
paternal  care  of  the  younger  men  intrusted  to  his  charge  1 

I  saved  more  money  during  my  stay  on  the  Herald,  at 
ten  dollars  a  week,  than  I  ever  have  since,  considering  the 
difference  in  the  earnings. 


XIX. 

MAHONY  AND  THK  BASTILE —  WAR. 

IN  the  early  part  of  1861,  Dorr  left  the  Herald,  and  it  fell 
under  the  control  of  Dennis  Mahony.  Mahony  was  a  large, 
dark  man  of  sixty  years  of  age,  with  a  massive  head,  a 
benevolent  face  ;  a  child  in  meekness  and  simplicity,  a  rock 
in  the  firmness  of  his  opinion.  He  was  known  among  his 
intimates  as  ''Old  Dogmatism." 

He  espoused  the  cause  of  the  South  after  the  election  of 
Lincoln  and  was  an  ardent  advocate  of  the  right  of  States  to 
separate  from  the  federation. 

This  old  man,  shaking  with  incipient  paralysis,  was 
pulled  from  his  bed,  late  one  night  in  August,  after  he  had 
retired,  by  a  Federal  Marshal  and  a  squad  of  soldiers,  and, 
without  even  being  given  time  to  gather  any  clothing,  was 
dragged  out  of  the  city  and  finally  taken,  by  a  devious  route, 
as  if  he  were  a  victim  being  exhibited  by  a  conqueror,  to 
Washington,  where  he  was  thrust  into  the  Old  Capital 
prison,  and  was  held  till  November,  when  he  was  discharged 
without  trial.  In  fact,  no  charges  were  ever  made  against 
him  ;  his  arrest,  confinement  and  discharge  were  as  arbi- 
trary as  is  the  action  of  the  Russian  Government  in  the  dis- 
position of  the  liberty  of  its  subjects. 

86 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  87 

I  called  on  the  old  man  in  the  Washington  bastile  a 
month  after  he  was  arrested,  gave  him  the  first  news  from 
home  and  purchased  him  a  change  of  underwear,  the  first 
he  had  had  since  his  arrest. 

Not  the  slightest  official  reason  has  ever  been  given  why 
a  peaceful,  harmless  old  man  was  subjected  to  this  outrage- 
ous assault.  It  is  supposed  by  some  that  it  was  done  to 
prevent  his  running  for  Congress  against  a  Republican  can- 
didate. He  was  arrested  and  held  till  after  the  election. 
What  intensified  the  offense  was  that  he  was  dragged  from 
his  home  in  the  presence  of  his  wife,  a  timid,  nervous  inva- 
lid, and  who  was  necessarily  frightfully  alarmed  by  the 
inroad  of  armed  ruffians. 

I  left  for  the  front  with  the  First  Iowa  Regiment  as  an 
army  correspondent.  Under  the  regime  that  succeeded 
Dorr,  my  salary  was  agreed  to  be  continued  at  the  same 
figure  that  I  had  received  as  city  editor  —  ten  dollars  a  week. 
I  may  here  state  that  for  the  three  months'  service  in  the 
field  I  received  nothing  from  the  Herald. 

Fortunately  for  my  necessities,  I  became  attached  to  the 
Times  of  New  York,  by  which  I  was  well  paid  and  with 
which  I  remained  till  I  left  the  army,  in  the  latter  part  of 
1863. 

I  shall,  in  these  reminiscences,  do  no  more  than  allude  to 
the  war  phase  of  my  journalistic  career,  except  in  a  single 
particular.  This  relates  to  the  New  York  Times,  its 
editor,  and  the  manner  in  which  I  became  connected  with 
that  newspaper.  I  may  say  here  that  I  have  already  given 


PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 


the  public  —  in  two  published  books  :  ' '  Army  and  Miscel- 
laneous Sketches,"  1869  ;  and  "  Pen  and  Powder,"  1887 — 
the  main  incidents,  characters,  adventures,  trials  and  labors 

j 

of  my  career  as  an  army  correspondent.  Suffice  it  at  this 
point  that  I  was  present  in  a  majority  of  the  campaigns  in 
the  West  from  Wilson's  Creek,  in  August,  1861,  up  to  a 
couple  of  months  after  the  fall  of  Vicksburg,  and  including 
four  months  in  the  summer  of  1862,  when  I  was  engaged 
in  watching  operations  against  Richmond  in  the  Chicka- 
hominy  campaign. 

In  July,  1 86 1,  in  the  march  of  the  First  Iowa  Regiment 
across  Missouri  to  join  Lyon,  we  stopped  at  Macon  long 
enough  to  issue  a  small  sheet,  Our  Whole  Union,  of 
which,  by  order  of  Colonel  Bates,  I  was  made  editor.  The 
column  moved  the  next  day,  and,  a  week  later,  we  went 
into  camp  at  Booneville. 

Here  I  was  approached  one  day  by  a  man  in  civilian's 
dress,  who  inquired  if  I  was  the  person  who  edited  the 
Macon  sheet.  Being  replied  to  in  the  affirmative,  he  said  : 

' '  I  am  the  representative  in  St.  lyouis  of  the  New  York 
Times,  and  I  have  been  instructed  by  Mr.  Raymond,  if 
possible,  to  engage  you  to  act  for  his  paper  in  this  move- 
ment." 

Had  a  thunderbolt  exploded  under  my  feet,  I  could  have 
been  no  more  astonished.  A  bargain  was  completed  at 
$7.50  a  column,  and  necessary  expenses. 

The  column  moved  on.  I  wrote  to  the  New  York  paper 
over  the  signature  of  ' '  Gal  way , ' '  and  requested  a  remit- 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  89 

tance.  I  never  received  a  line  in  reply,  and,  when  the 
battle  of  Wilson's  Creek  was  fought,  I  sent  my  account  to 
the  Dubuque  Herald,  meanwhile  dropping  a  letter  to  Ray- 
mond, saying  that,  as  I  had  nevef  heard  a  word  from  the 
Times,  I  had  concluded  that  my  services  were  not  needed 
and  had  sent  my  account  of  the  fight  to  another  paper. 

I  wound  up  with  a  request  that  if  there  were  anything 
due  me  to  send  it  to  me,  and  that  I  should  look  for  another 
engagement.  A  telegram  came  in  reply,  saying  :  "  Don't 
resign  ;  letter  on  its  way  to  you."  The  letter  came  with  a 
draft,  a  regret  from  Mr.  Raymond  that  he  had  not  received 
an  account  of  the  battle,  and  a  request  to  continue  as  his 
representative. 

What  other  editor  living  would  have  met  my  action  with 
such  treatment? 

In  September,  I  crossed  from  St.  Louis  to  Lexington, 
where  Colonel  Mulligan  was  surrounded  by  Price  ;  sur- 
rendered to  the  Confederate  commander,  at  the  risk  of  being 
hanged  for  a  spy ;  witnessed  the  siege  and  the  surrender, 
and  forwarded  an  exclusive  account  to  the  Times.  Ray- 
mond was  more  than  grateful  ;  he  sent  a  substantial  draft 
to  my  wife  as  a  present  ;  he  gave  my  feat  at  Lexington  a 
half-column  editorial,  in  which  he  warmly  commended  my 
daring,  my  devotion  to  the  interests  of  the  Times,  and  pro- 
nounced it  one  "  unparalleled  in  the  history  of  journalism." 

He  did  more  ;  he  raised  my  pay  to  a  salary  of  $30  a 
week,  all  my  expenses,  and  gave  me  charge  of  all  military 
operations  in  the  West. 


90  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

When  Vicksburg  fell,  I  had  taken  a  short  run  up  the 
river,  instructing  my  assistant,  if  the  place  surrendered, 
to  start  instantly  for  New  York,  writing  his  account  as  he 
went.  He  followed  instructions  as  far  as  Indianapolis, 
where  he  fell  by  the  way,  and  his  account  never  reached 
the  office.  Raymond  even  possessed  the  generosity  to  ex- 
cuse the  failure  so  far  as  I  was  concerned,  merely  expressing 
a  mild  regret  over  the  unfortunate  choice  of  a  subordinate. 

Raymond  was  the  incarnation  of  generosity,  suavity,  a 
desire  to  please.  He  always  wrote  me  with  his  own  hand 
when  some  portion  of  my  work  especially  pleased  him  ;  and 
he  did  not  hesitate  to  compliment  my  style  in  writing,  and 
to  mention  to  me  any  good  points  in  my  efforts. 

I  have  alluded  to  my  connection  with  Henry  J.  Raymond 
because  it  is  a  legitimate  portion  of  my  journalistic  remin- 
.  iscences,  and  for  the  further  reason  that  such  treatment  of 
employes  by  the  managers  of  newspapers  is  of  the  rarest 
occurrence.  He  was,  in  these  considerate  qualities,  a  rara 
avis  in  his  profession. 

I  remained  in  the  South  a  couple  of  months  after  the 
surrender  of  Pemberton,  and  then,  having  been  a  full  year 
in  the  swampy  regions  of  Vicksburg,  and  having  before  me 
only  the  prospect  of  a  winter's  campaign  under  Steele,  in 
Arkansas,  I  concluded  to  give  up  the  service. 

Mr.   Raymond  expressed  satisfaction  with  my  services, 
and  informed  me  that,  if  I  would  come  to  New  York,  the 
would  give  me  employment, 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  91 


I  left  the  army  in  robust  health,  never  having  been  ill 
during  my  service,  save  a  slight  bilious  attack  before  Vicks- 
burg. 


XX. 

MAN  PROPOSES  —  FATE  DISPOSES. 

MY  intention,  when  I  concluded  to  leave  the  army,  was 
not  to  return  to  journalism,  at  least  for  a  time,  but  to  turn 
historian  ;  that  is,  to  write  up  the  histories  of  the  troops  of 
various  States.  In  this  determination  I  was  strongly  en- 
couraged by  Whitelaw  Reid,  then  the  army  correspondent 
of  the  Cincinnati  Gazette.  He  gave  me  a  letter  to  the  pub- 
lishing house  of  Moore,  Keyes,  Wilstach  &  Co.,  of  Cin- 
cinnati, whom  I  visited,  and  suggested  the  project  of  a  his- 
tory of  the  Ohio  troops. 

They  readily  fell  in  with  the  scheme,  and  a  bargain  was 
made  with  no  difficulty.  It  was  a  very  liberal  one  on  their 
part.  They  were  to  pay  my  traveling  expenses  in  the 
search  for  information,  a  substantial  sum  per  week  while 
engaged  in  the  work,  and  a  very  satisfactory  total  when  the 
book  should  be  finished. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  the  senior  member  of  the  firm, 
"  although  this  agreement  is,  to  all  intents  and  purposes, 
fixed,  as  a  matter  of  form  we  wish  to  consult  our  junior 
partner,  who  is  now  in  New  York,  and  who  is  expected 
back  within  a  week.  It  need  make  no  difference  in  your 
arrangements.  You  can  go  home,  make  your  necessary 

92 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  93 

preparations,    and  as  soon  as   Mr. returns,  we  will 

notify  you  by  mail.  But  I  assure  you  again,  this  is  done 
merely  out  of  respect  for  our  junior  member  and  will  not 
affect  the  agreement. ' ' 

' '  All  right.  It  will  not  require  more  than  a  week  to 
make  my  preparations.'* 

I  left  Cincinnati,  expecting  to  be  back  within  a  very  brief 
period.  I  concluded  all  necessary  arrangements  for  the 
change  of  base,  and  then  waited  for  the  letter. 

A  week  passed,  no  communication  ;  another  week  rolled 
by,  and  still  a  third,  and  then  I  abandoned  the  project, 
under  the  belief  that  the  junior  partner  had  negatived  the 
project. 

Just  at  this  time  I  received  a  letter  from  James  H.  Good- 
sell,  city  editor  of  the  Chicago  Times,  in  which  he  stated 
that  he  was  instructed  by  Mr.  Storey  to  offer  me  a  position 
as  assistant  editor  on  his  staff.  In  view  of  the  failure  of 
the  Ohio  enterprise,  the  Chicago  offer  seemed  providential, 
and  I  at  once  wrote  Goodsell  an  acceptance,  and  the  next 
morning  was  a  regularly  engaged  employe  of  the  Times. 

The  very  next  day  after  I  had  taken  possession  of  my 
editorial  desk,  a  letter  reached  me,  forwarded  from  El  Paso, 
111.,  where  I  had  been  stopping  with  some  relatives  after 
leaving  the  army,  and  was  the  announcement  of  the  Cin- 
cinnati firm  that  the  junior  member,  as  had  been  anticipated, 
had  given  his  consent  to  the  project ! 

The   letter  had   been   delayed  on  its  passage.     Had  it 


94  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OP 

reached  me  in  due  season,  I  should  have  received  it  at  least 
a  week  before  hearing  from  Goodsell. 

L'homme propose;  Dieu  dispose  ! 

There  was  another  feature  in  this  event  which  was  in  the 
nature  of  a  deus  ex  machina.  Some  weeks  before  this 
change  in  my  occupation  had  occurred,  the  world  was 
shocked  by  the  announcement  that  a  steamer  on  the  lakes, 
laden  with  passengers,  had  been  destroyed  in  a  storm,  and 
not  a  soul  was  left  to  ' '  tell  the  tale. ' ' 

Among  the  passengers  known  to  have  embarked  at  Chi- 
cago, and  who  was  never  after  heard  of,  was  a  young  man, 
Warren  P.  Isham,  a  brother-in-law  of  Wilbur  F.  Storey, 
and  who,  at  the  time  of  his  leaving  on  the  fated  ship,  was 
acting  as  assistant  editor  on  the  staff  of  the  Times.  It  was 
this  vacancy  that  I  was  called  on  to  fill. 

A  letter  had  to  miscarry,  and  a  man  to  die,  to  provide  me 
with  a  situation. 

Isham' s  history  was  a  brief  one.  He  was  with  Storey 
when  he  was  the  publisher  of  the  Detroit  Free  Press,  and  it 
was  pretty  well  understood  that  Storey  made  his  life  a 
sheol.  He  disappeared  from  Detroit,  and  when  Storey 
moved  to  Chicago  and  purchased  the  old  Times,  Isham  was 
found  to  be  connected  with  it  in  some  capacity.  He  re- 
mained with  the  paper  when  the  property  was  transferred 
to  the  new  owner,  and  took  the  position  of  assistant  editor. 

In  the  spring  of  1862,  he  was  sent  to  the  front  as  a  corre- 
spondent. I  saw  him  a  couple  of  days  after  the  battle  of 
Shiloh.  He  was  a  slender,  handsome  young  fellow,  and 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  95 

noticeable  from  the  fact  that  he  was  stylishly  dressed,  and 
looked  very  much  out  of  place  in  the  roughness  and  un- 
cleanliness  of  the  surroundings.  I  saw  him  but  for  a 
moment,  and  it  was  the  only  time  I  ever  met  him. 

I^ater  he  was  in  Memphis,  when  the  Federal  commander 
of  the  post  made  the  famous  retreat  from  the  raid  of  For- 
rest, in  which  flight,  it  is  said,  the  fleeing  Federal  wore 
but  a  single  garment. 

Isham  wrote  up  the  occurrence  in  a  manner  which,  if 
possible,  added  to  the  real  absurdity  and  ludicrousness  of 
the  situation.  It  was  a  communication  which  set  the  entire 
North  in  roars  of  laughter.  The  fugitive  with  the  single 
garment,  and  his  frantic,  headlong  rush,  became  the  butt  of 
universal  ridicule. 

The  offense  of  Isham  was  too  serious  to  be  condoned.  It 
exposed  the  ^legs  of  a  mighty  brigadier-general  scurrying 
through  the  streets  of  Memphis,  with  a  slender,  sail-like 
appendage  flapping  swiftly  in  his  rear. 

The  dignity  of  the  Federal  arms  —  perhaps  legs  is  a  better 
word  —  had  been  insulted,  and  stern  and  swift,  like  the 
flight  of  the  fugitive,  must  be  the  punishment  of  the  inso- 
lent offender.  A  court-martial  wras  convened,  and  at  the 
termination  of  the  trial  he  was  sent  to  the  penitentiary  at 
Alton. 

He  remained  there  some  months.  I  have  never  heard 
that  Mr.  Storey  ever  made  an  effort  to  get  the  prisoner  re- 
leased, or  gave  him  the  slightest  attention.  It  may  be  that 


96  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

he  was  pleased  at  Isham's  seclusion,  as  it  relieved  him  of  a 
brother-in-law  whom  he  appears  to  have  profoundly  hated. 

It  was  in  the  last  month  of  the  summer,  in  1863,  that 
Isham  embarked  on  the  steamer  ' '  Sunbeam, ' '  a  splendid  boat 
running  between  Chicago  and  Ontonagon.  The  morning 
after  leaving  the  last-named  place,  a  tremendous  storm 
came  up,  and  every  person  on  the  vessel,  save  the  pilot, 
Frazier  —  who  escaped  on  a  raft  —  was  lost. 

It  was  this  calamity,  in  which  some  thirty  people  lost 
their  lives,  which  opened  a  route  for  me  into  the  Chicago 
Times. 


XXI. 

SUMMARY  OF  THE  L,IFE  OF  STOREY. 

BEFORE  entering  on  my  personal  reminiscences  of  Mr. 
Storey,  it  may  be  well  to  present  a  brief  epitome  of  his  life 
up  to  the  date  —  in  September,  1863  —  when  I  first  met  him. 

Wilbur  F.  Storey  —  I  never  learned  what  the  "  F. "  stood 
for  — was  born  in  Salisbury,  Vermont,  December  19,  1819. 
His  father  was  a  farmer,  with  whom  the  son  remained  until 
he  was  twelve  years  of  age.  There  were  other  children,  at 
least  another  son,  and  two  daughters.  Nothing  has  ever 
been  learned  to  indicate  that  Mr.  Storey  derived  any  portion 
of  his  great  genius  through  heredity,  unless  from  a  point 
more  remote  than  that  of  father  and  mother. 

They  are  reported  to  have  been  plain,  good,  common- 
sense  people,  exactly  adapted  to  the  station  in  life  which 
they  occupied.  It  is  not,  however,  without  example  that 
the  egg  of  an  eagle  may  be  incubated  and  hatched  in  the 
nest  of  a  plain  domestic  fowl. 

It  is  stated  that  young  Storey  exhibited  no  marked 
peculiarities,  save  that  he  was  somewhat  more  grave  and 
less  frolicsome  than  his  companions.  It  is  not  learned  that 
he  was  a  reader,  or  studious  to  any  extraordinary  extent ; 
in  fact,  in  later  life  he  was  neither.  He  could  not  have  had 

97 


98  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

much  opportunity  to  study  before  he  was  twelve  years  of 
age,  the  period  when  he  entered  the  office  of  the  Middle- 
bury  (Vt.)  Free  Press,  to  learn  the  art  acquired  by  another 
distinguished  character,  Ben  Franklin. 

Five  years  later,  with  the  wandering  instincts  of  the  old- 
days  printer,  he  went  to  New  York,  where  he  worked  at  his 
trade  in  the  Journal  of  Commerce,  then  migrated  to  L,a  Porte, 
Indiana,  where,  in  company  with  Edward  Hannigan  —  later 
a  Federal  Senator  —  he  started  a  Democratic  journal,  the 
Herald.  Mr.  Storey's  later  career  and  peculiarities  permit 
the  inference  that  harmony  would  not  long  prevail  in  an 
association  of  which  he  was  a  part.  A  year  later  the  Herald 
expired  from  anaemia,  due  to  lack  of  sufficient  nutrition. 

He  then  blew  the  Tocsin,  to  Democratic  airs,  at  Mishawa- 
ka,  Indiana,  and,  his  breath  giving  out  at  the  end  of 
eighteen  months,  he  moved  to  Jackson,  Michigan,  where, 
for  two  years,  he  read  law,  and  then,  by  aid  of  his  brother- 
in-law,  a  Mr.  Farrand,  he  started  the  Jackson  Patriot,  also 
Democratic.  He  combined  with  journalism  a  drug-store 
and  a  book-selling  shop,  and,  owing  to  a  dispute  about  the 
sale  of  alcohol  from  his  drug-store,  he  withdrew  from  the 
Congregational  denomination  to  which  he  belonged,  and 
never  after  identified  himself  with  any  religious  body. 

He  was  married  in  1847  to  his  first  wife,  Maria  P.  Isham  ; 
was  Postmaster  under  Polk  ;  Commissioner  of  the  State 
Constitutional  Convention,  and,  in  1853,  by  a  political  deal, 
secured  an  interest  in  the  Detroit  Free  Press,  a  then  almost 
worthless  Democratic  organ,  and  which,  in  1861,  he 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  99 

increased  so  much  in  value  that  it  had  paid  for  itself  and 
was  sold  for  $30,000. 

He  then  came  to  Chicago  and  purchased  the  Chicago 
Times,  in  company  with  A.  Worden,  a  "  Wolverine,"  and 
a  brother  of  Commodore  Worden,  whose  eyesight  was 
damaged  in  the  Monitor  and  Merrimac  fight  in  Hampton 
Roads. 

The  Times  had  been  started  in  1854,  as  a  Douglas  organ, 
by  the  well-known  James  W.  Sheahan  and  Daniel  Cameron. 
In  1860  it  was  in  the  sole  possession  of  the  former,  who 
sold  it  to  the  great  Presbyterian  magnate  and  reaper  manu- 
facturer, Cyrus  McCormick,  who  was  also  the  owner  of 
a  paper  known  as  the  Herald,  a  Democratic  journal  estab- 
lished in  the  interests  of  James  Buchanan  in  1858. 

The  two  journals  were  consolidated  as  the  Herald  and 
Times,  McCormick  intending,  in  season,  to  drop  the  latter. 
It  was  edited  by  ex-Governor  McComas,  of  Virginia,  who 
held  his  place  until  the  sale  to  Storey  in  June,  1861.  The 
new  owner  brought  his  staff  with  him  from  Detroit.  They 
were  John  L,.  Chipman,  editorial  writer  ;  Henry  M.  Scovel, 
news  editor ;  Warren  J.  Isham,  city  editor ;  Henry  B. 
Chandler,  business  manager,  and  Austin  L,.  Patterson, 
assistant  book-keeper. 

Chipman  left  soon  after,  and  his  place  was  taken  by  M.  L. 
Hopkins,  an  ex-member  of  the  Michigan  Legislature.  James 
Goodsell,  of  Detroit,  soon  was  made  city  editor.  The 
Herald  and  Times  was  started  in  the  McCormick  Block,  on 
the  fifth  floor,  and  then  was  removed  to  the  street  floor  on 


ioo  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

the  southeast  corner  of  the  first  alley  on  Randolph  Street 
east  of  State  Street. 

It  was  at  this  location  that  Mr.  Storey  began  his  publica- 
tion of  the  Times.  The  purpose  of  the  proprietor  of  the 
double-headed  sheet,  McCormick,  was  thus  reversed. 

Mr.  Storey  was  a  Democrat  and  favored  a  war  for  the 
preservation  of  the  Union.  In  the  autumn  of  1862,  Lincoln 
issued  the  emancipation  proclamation,  and  thereupon  Storey 
became  an  ardent  opponent  of  the  war,  urged,  as  he  asserted, 
solely  for  the  freedom  of  the  Southern  blacks. 

I  need  not  recall  in  detail  the  famous  attempt  made  to 
suppress  the  Times  in  June,  1864,  by  military  force,  through  an 
order  issued  by  Gen.  Ambrose  F.  Burnside.  Early  on  the 
morning  of  the  third,  the  press-room  was  taken  posses- 
sion of  by  Federal  soldiers.  Several  thousand  copies  had 
already  been  distributed  on  the  streets,  but  a  smaller  number 
were  seized. 

Great  mass-meetings  were  held.  Lincoln  was  telegraphed 
to  by  leading  citizens  to  revoke  the  order,  among  whom 
United  States  Judge  David  Davis  took  an  influential  part. 
All  of  the  edition  of  the  fourth  of  June  was  suppressed. 

lyincoln  revoked  the  order,  but  there  was  far  from  being 
peace.  All  over  the  Northwest,  among  civilians,  there  was 
a  tremendous  excitement  among  partisans  of  both  sides. 
In  Illinois  many  secret  meetings  were  held,  organizations 
were  formed,  and  armed  insurrection  on  the  one  hand,  and 
forcible  resistance  on  the  other,  were  determined  on.  Had 
the  work  of  Burnside  been  persevered  in,  there  would  have 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JQURN4LI$M.  xoi 


been  an  outbreak  in  hundreds  of  places,  a r,d, a >  neighbor- 
hood war  would  have  followed,  equal  m  rancor;  ta  tha-t 
which  prevailed  in  Missouri  between  the  home-guards  and 
the  guerrillas. 

The  attempt  at  suppressing  the  Times  was  an  immeasur- 
able benefit  to  the  financial  interests  of  the  journal.  Without 
Burnside's  ill-advised  interference,  it  was  within  the  limits 
of  the  possible  that  Storey,  in  less  than  five  years  after 
moving  to  Chicago,  would  have  resumed  the  drug  business 
in  Jackson. 

During  the  Soldiers'  and  Sailors'  Convention  in  Indian- 
apolis, in  the  seventies,  I  was  entering  the  Bates  Hotel,  when 
I  met  General  Burnside  coming  out.  I  recognized  him  by 
his  whiskers  and  general  appearance,  as  popularized  by  his 
portraits  in  public  prints,  but  had  never  before  seen  him. 

I  was  at  once  seized  by  a  rather  malevolent  idea. 

' '  General,  I  have  never  before  met  you,  and  you  will 
pardon  the  liberty  I  take  in  addressing  you. ' ' 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  rather  puzzled  expression,  and, 
smiling  genially,  took  my  proffered  hand,  shook  it  cordially 
and  said : 

''I'm  always  glad  to  see  my  friends."  Then  he  waited 
for  me  to  explain. 

' '  General,  I  have  been  waiting  for  many  years  to  thank 
you  for  a  great  service  you  conferred  on  some  of  my  friends, 
during  the  progress  of  the  war. ' ' 

"  Indeed  1  I  don't  remember  you  or  the  event ;  what  was 
it  that  you  refer  to  ?" 


102  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

"It  was  a  service  of  immeasurable  magnitude.  It 
•fcesfciie(f  &'•  great  institution  from  a  collapse  ;  it  is  something 
for  which  the  beneficiaries  can  never  sufficiently  thank  you." 

The  face  of  the  General  shone  all  over  with  delight  and 
benevolence,  and  smiles  played  over  his  eyes  and  lips  like 
the  irradiation  of  the  northern  lights  over  the  polar  sky. 

' '  Please  tell  me  what  you  refer  to.  Who  is  it  that  says 
these  pleasant  things  ?  ' ' 

1 '  General, ' '  I  said,  as  I  again  seized  his  hand  and  shook 
it  heartily,  "  I  am  one  of  the  editors  of  the  Chicago  Times  !  ' ' 

A  change  flashed  over  his  countenance  like  that  of  clouds 
suddenly  obscuring  a  sunshiny  sky.  He  glanced  at  me 
with  a  pained  sort  of  look,  and,  brushing  swiftly  by,  went 
into  the  street. 


XXII. 

STORK Y'S  AU.KGKD  BRUTALITY. 

THE  clamor  about  Storey  was  so  great,  his  reported  abuse 
of  his  employes  so  wide-spread,  the  assertions  as  to  his  open 
treason  so  emphatic  and  universal,  that  it  was  with  consid- 
erable hesitation  that  I  responded  affirmatively  to  Goodsell's 
letter  offering  me  the  position  vacated  by  Isham.  This  was 
in  the  early  part  of  September,  1863,  and  the  clamor  against 
the  editor  was  at  its  full  height.  I  must  say,  also,  that 
another  motive  made  me  disinclined  to  ally  myself  with 
the  Times.  I  was  an  unfaltering  Democrat,  strongly 
favored  the  war  for  the  preservation  of  the  Union,  and, 
hence,  did  not  care  to  incur  the  odium  of  being  a  ' '  copper- 
head," a  "  rebel  sympathizer, "  "secessionist,"  and  all  the 
other  terms  of  contumely  and  opprobrium  which  I  knew 
association  with  Storey's  paper  would  necessarily  inflict  orv 
me. 

However,  after  a  long  debate  with  myself,  I  concluded  to 
accept  the  offer,  and  so  notified  Goodsell,  and  that  I  would 
meet  him  two  days  later  at  the  Tremont  House. 

' '  Jim, ' '  as  everybody  termed  Goodsell,  met  me.  He  was 
a  tall,  slender,  handsome  young  fellow,  with  a  bright  face, 
active  motions,  and  very  agreeable  in  his  manners.  As  I 

103 


104  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

soon  discovered,  although  barely  out  of  Ann  Arbor  Univer- 
sity, he  was  already  a  valuable  man  in  his  profession  — 
alert,  capable,  vigilant  and  untiring. 

On  our  way  to  the  office,  I  said  to  him  that  I  had  hesi- 
tated a  good  deal  before  deciding  to  accept  his  offer. 

' '  Is  that  so  ?  Why  ?  I  regard  it  as  an  unusual  oppor- 
tunity for  a  young  man  to  jump  at  once  to  a  staff  position 
on  a  first-class  newspaper  like  the  Times.  What  made  you 
hesitate?" 

' '  Well,  because  they  say  Mr.  Storey  treats  his  employes 
with  severity,  and  that  he  is  a  brute  who  likes  to  rend  the 
flesh  of  his  subordinates. ' ' 

"Who  is  *  they  '  who  say  this  ?  " 

"  Oh,  everybody!  I  heard  it  in  the  Ozark  Mountains, 
in  the  Yazoo  Bayou,  in  the  Chickahominy  Swamps,  in  New 
Orleans,  at  Shiloh,  Vicksburg  ;  in  brief,  everywhere,  from 
everybody." 

"  Don't  let  that  worry  you.  '  Everybody  '  is  a  slanderer, 
and,  of  course,  a  liar.  Mr.  Storey  is  the  finest  gentleman  in 
the  world  to  work  for  if  you  know  your  business  and  attend 
to  it." 

Nevertheless,  it  was  with  a  strong  apprehension  that  I 
entered  the  faded  old  brick  building  used  by  the  Times.  It 
had  been  built  for  a  store  of  some  kind  ;  there  was  a  glass 
front ;  the  upper  half  of  the  door  was  of  the  same  material. 
The  first  room  was  a  large  one,  in  which  were  the  counters, 
desks,  tables  and  other  furniture  of  a  counting-room. 
Beyond  this,  a  small  room,  in  which,  at  a  desk,  was  seated 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  105 

a  handsome  man,  with  a  long,  silky,  flaxen  beard,  and  hair 
which  matched  in  hue. 

I  was  presented  to  him:  "  Mr.  Worden,  Mr.  Storey's 
partner,"  said  Goodsell. 

Mr.  Worden  was  very  affable  ;  he  was  glad  to  see  me,  he 
said,  as  he  rose  and  warmly  shook  my  hand  with  both  his 
hands. 

I  felt  relieved  :  if  this  was  a  specimen  of  the  partnership, 
the  remainder  of  it  could  not  be  so  terrible. 

We  passed  on  through  the  small  room  and  entered  a 
much  larger  one  beyond,  and  which,  I  could  see,  was  dimly 
lighted  from  a  court  at  the  opposite  side.  It  was  a  room  in 
which  there  prevailed  a  twilight  obscurity,  in  which  there 
appeared,  seated  at  a  small,  plain  table,  a  figure  with  thick 
white  hair,  and  a  long  white  beard  that  fell,  like  that  of  a 
patriarch,  over  his  breast.  Without  seeing  any  more  of  the 
details  of  the  figure  than  the  outlines  and  the  white,  I 
knew  that  I  was  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Storey,  the  awful 
ogre,  the  bete  noir,  the  terror  that  ravaged  the  jungles  of  the 
great  West. 

As  I  gazed  at  the  white-crowned  figure,  it  seemed  to 
tower  to  monstrous  dimensions,  something  like  the  genius 
which  issued  from  the  casket  in  which  it  had  been  confined 
by  Solomon.  We  approached.  He  was  looking  over  the 
columns  of  a  newspaper,  and  must  have  heard  our  steps,  or 
seen  us  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eyes,  but  he  did  not  look 
up  ;  he  sat  as  immovable  as  a  white  statue  in  marble. 

It  was  only  when  Goodsell  said:   "  Mr.  Storey,  this  is 


io6  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

Mr.  Wilkie, ' '  that  he  appeared  to  be  aware  of  our  presence. 
Then  he  looked  up,  and  I  caught  sight  of  deep-brown  eyes, 
superb  in  shape  and  expression,  serious,  deep,  commanding, 
and  which  he  fixed  on  me  as  if  examining  my  qualities 
rather  than  my  appearance. 

' '  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?  "  extending  his  hand,  and  still 
retaining  his  seat. 

His  utterance  was  slow,  deliberate,  his  voice  deep,  im- 
pressive, and  with  a  suggestion  of  harshness  rather  than  of 
melodious  qualities. 

He  invited  me  to  take  a  seat.  Our  conversation,  or,  rather, 
his,  was  very  brief.  He  said  he  had  lost  an  assistant 
writer  and  must  fill  his  place.  Could  I  take  it,  and,  if  so, 
how  soon?  I  replied,  "  In  three  days."  That  would  do. 

He  asked  me  no  questions  as  to  my  training  or  experi- 
ence ;  gave  no  intimation  as  to  work,  whether  it  was  day 
or  night  which  was  wanted,  nor  was  anything  said  as  to 
pay. 

' '  There  is  nothing  more  to  say,  is  there  ?  "  I  asked,  as  he 
ceased  to  speak. 

"  Nothing  !  "  he  answered. 

' '  Then  good  morning,  sir. ' ' 

I  rose  and  started  for  the  door,  and  at  the  same  moment 
he  also  started  up,  and  began  to  move  in  the  same  direction. 
Supposing  he  was  going  into  Worden'sden,  or  the  counting- 
room,  I  stood  aside  to  give  him  the  precedence,  which  he 
refused,  and  moved  along  at  my  side.  In  this  order  we 
moved  through  Worden's  room,  and  along  the  passage  in 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  107 

the  counting-room    which  led   to  the    front    door.     As    I 
reached  out  to  open  the  door,  he  said,  looking  at  me  in- 
quiringly, and  as  if  there  might  be  some  doubt  in  it : 
( '  You  will  come  without  fail  in  the  three  days  ? ' ' 
'  'Yes,  sir,  if  I'm  alive!" 

He  returned  down  the  passage,  saying  nothing  when  he 
left. 

I  re-entered  the  editorial  room  at  nine  A.  M.  on  the 
agreed  morning.  A  small,  swarthy  man  with  jet-black 
hair,  large,  very  dark  eyes,  and  a  face  full  of  intensity,  sat 
at  a  small  table  glancing  over  a  newspaper.  We  made  our- 
selves acquainted.  He  was,  he  said,  Mr.  M.  Iy.  Hopkins, 
senior  assistant  editor.  I  was,  I  said,  the  successor  of  Mr. 
I  sham.  He  was  pleased  to  see  me.  For  several  years 
thereafter  we  occupied  tables  in  the  same  room. 

' '  Do  you  prefer  a  pen  or  pencil  for  your  writing  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  I  think  I  prefer  a  pencil." 

' '  Very  well ;  I '  11  get  you  a  supply  of  material . "  He  went 
out  and  soon  returned  with  pencils  and  soft  writing-paper. 
I  often  wonder  why  I  selected  the  pencil  in  preference  to 
the  pen.  I  had  never  in  all  my  writing  used  anything, 
even  in  the  war,  but  the  last-named.  I  recalled,  as  he  laid 
the  pencils  and  paper  before  me,  how,  less  than  a  month 
before,  I  had  been  in  the  office  of  the  St.  Louis  Republican, 
and  had  noticed  that  the  venerable  senior  of  the  staff  was 
scratching  out  his  ' '  stuff ' '  with  a  lead  pencil  on  soft  paper. 


io8  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

It  seemed  to  be  something  effeminate,  and  I  felt  a  species  of 
contempt  for  the  writer  and  his  products. 

Hopkins,  I  saw,  had  before  him  a  pile  of  good,  solid 
foolscap,  a  big  bottle  of  ink,  and  a  collection  of  steel- 
pointed  spears. 

I  took  possession  of  the  table  pointed  out  to  me  by  Mr. 
Hopkins,  and,  as  Mr.  Storey  had  not  yet  come,  I  studied 
the  room.  It  was  spacious  on  the  floor,  high  as  to  ceiling, 
lighted  dimly  from  the  dirty  windows  of  the  light-shaft. 
There  was  a  book-case,  with  glass  doors,  containing  per- 
haps one  or  two  hundred  books  of  a  very  miscellaneous 
kind,  and  piled  in  a  corner  were  great  numbers  of  black- 
coated  official  reports,  and  litters  of  newspapers. 

There  was  a  carpet  on  the  floor,  a  sofa  on  one  side,  all 
of  which  substantially  comprised  the  furniture  of  the 
editorial  room. 


XXIII. 
GETTING  BROKEN  TO  HARNESS. 

PROBABLY  at  no  time  in  my  journalistic  experience  was 
I  in  so  great  a  quandary,  so  perplexed,  so  undecided  what 
to  do,  and  how  to  do  it.  I  felt  that  much,  everything,  in 
fact,  depended  on  the  impression  which  would  be  produced 
by  my  initial  effort. 

I  pondered  over  the  problem  for  a  long  time.  Should  it 
be  something  on  the  war  question  ;  a  political  essay  ;  a  smart 
denunciation  of  some  military  commander?  These  and 
others  of  the  kind  might  strike  the  editor-in-chief  as  being 
pretentious,  stiff,  presumptuous. 

Meanwhile  Storey  came  in.  I  glanced  over  my  shoulder 
at  him,  but  he  noticed  neither  me  nor  my  colleague.  He 
seated  himself  and  commenced  opening  a  pile  of  letters. 
His  presence  considerably  intensified  my  embarrassment. 

It  was  an  hour  or  more  after  I  had  taken  my  seat,  when 
my  eye  lighted  on  a  brief  account  of  an  outrage  perpetrated 
on  the  inmates  of  a  charitable  institution  for  the  care  of 
poor  children.  Here  was  the  sought-for  theme  !  Some- 
thing to  awaken  the  sympathy  of  the  tender-hearted  ;  to 
arouse  righteous  indignation  ;  to  stir  the  pulses  of  the  pub- 
lic. It  contained  pathetic  elements  ;  it  involved  pity  ;  it  was 

109 


i  io  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

just  the  class  of  craft  needed  with  which  to  embark  on  un- 
known waters. 

I  wrote  up  the  subject  in  my  best  style  ;  I  was  poetical 
without  being  "sloppy,"  indignant  without  being  brutal 
in  expression,  and  Christian-like  in  my  demand  for  the 
punishment  of  the  guilt  of  the  culpable  managers. 

I  added  two  or  three  short  articles,  and,  in  the  afternoon 
at  about  four  o'clock,  walked  humbly  to  the  table  of  the 
silent  sphynx,  and  laid  my  package  before  him.  He  did  not 
look  up,  nor  in  the  least  indicate  that  he  was  aware  of  my 
existence  or  presence.  That  night  was  a  long  and  trouble- 
some one.  Would  my  articles  be  in?  Would  the  ''old 
man  ' '  throw  them  into  the  waste-basket,  or  would  he  print 
them  ?  L,ong  before  daylight  I  was  in  the  street  waiting, 
hoping,  half-despairing,  for  an  early  Times.  A  newsboy's 
cry  at  last  echoed  along  the  distance,  and,  a  moment  later, 
I  had  one  in  my  possession. 

I  scarcely  dared  unfold  it.  I  kept  saying  to  myself: 
' '  They  are  not  in  !  "  I  finally  opened  it  to  the  editorial 
page,  and  scanned  it  with  a  vision  obscured  by  doubt.  I 
failed  to  see  the  articles,  and  my  heart  bolted  into  my 
mouth  !  Then  I  looked  over  the  page  in  detail,  and,  this 
time,  found  them.  They  were  there,  just  as  I  had  written 
them,  punctuation  and  all. 

This  may  seem  a  confession  of  great  weakness  on  the 
part  of  one  who  had  written  as  much  as  I  had  before  I 
joined  the  Times.  I  never  afterwards  had  any  hesitation  as 
to  theme  or  treatment ;  but,  in  this  instance,  I  was  puzzled, 


THIRTY-FIVQ  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  in 

mystified  by  the  incomprehensible  enigma  that  filled  the 
atmosphere  in  which  I  wrote. 

Storey,  at  that  period,  was  a  person  to  command  respect. 
He  was  about  forty-five  years  of  age,  in  the  very  prime  of 
manhood.  He  was  fully  six  feet  in  height,  with  a  fine 
head,  poised  on  his  shoulders  with  the  grace  of  an  Apollo  ; 
his  figure  was  easily  and  perfectly  erect ;  his  chest  was 
strong,  not  with  the  contour  of  an  athlete,  but  the  lines 
which  indicate  flexibility,  activity  and  strength. 

His  arms  were  long,  with  slender  hands,  and  shapely, 
tapering  fingers.  His  feet  were  narrow  and  long,  his  legs 
perfectly  straight,  and  well  shaped  in  calf  and  thigh,  and 
his  hips  were  slender  enough  to  harmonize  with  the  width 
of  his  chest. 

His  face  was  especially  intelligent,  noble,  dignified  and 
aristocratic.  His  forehead  was  deep,  full,  massive,  beauti- 
fully rounded  ;  his  nose  strong,  and  characteristic  of  vast 
will-power  ;  his  mouth  artistically  carved,  and  his  eyes  — 
one  of  his  finest  features  —  were  a  deep  hazel,  large,  clear, 
and  wonderfully  expressive. 

His  long  beard  and  ample  hair,  white  as  snow,  did  not 
suggest  age,  but  rather  a  grand  dignity,  which  added  much 
to  the  attractiveness  of  his  splendid  head. 

A  few  days  after  connecting  myself  with  the  Times,  I 
met  two  gentlemen  on  Randolph  Street  who  were  walking 
arm  in  arm.  One  of  them  was  a  man  with  jet-black  hair 
and  beard,  and  who,  in  all  other  respects,  resembled  Storey. 
The  next  day,  after  the  senior  had  taken  his  seat,  I  glanced 


ii2  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

at  him  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye,  and  saw  a  man  with 
raven  locks  and  beard.  So  far  as  I  remember,  this  one 
time  was  the  only  one  in  which  he  resorted  to  the  use  of 
the  dye-pot.  As  the  dye  faded  out,  and  all  sorts  of  queer 
and  grotesque  blotches  came  into  view,  he  was,  for  a  time, 
an  Apollo  masquerading  as  a  Silenus. 

He  was  statuesque  in  his  immobility,  and  more  particu- 
larly in  his  silence,  as  he  sat  before  his  table  in  the  center 
of  the  dim  editorial  room.  I  was  told  by  Worden,  his 
partner,  that  Storey  had  insisted  that  employes  never  should 
be  recognized  on  the  streets,  or  in  other  places.  The 
employes  were  to  be  regarded  as  mere  machines  —  to  be 
operated,  but  in  no  sense  to  be  human  beings. 

The  first  year  I  sat  within  almost  hand-reaching  distance 
of  Mr.  Storey,  and  never  once  during  that  period  did  he 
say,  ' '  Good  morning  !  "  or  in  any  way  utter  a  word  unless 
I  asked  of  him  instruction  in  some  treatment  of  political 
or  other  questions. 

One  night,  I  startled  him  out  of  his  silence,  as  I  happened 
to  meet  him,  and  informed  him  that  a  very  important 
employe,  connected  with  the  composition  department,  was 
indulging  in  a  big  drunk,  and  wound  up  my  communication 
by  offering  my  services  to  take  the  other  man's  place. 

Storey  looked  at  me  with  as  much  astonishment  as  if  it 
were  the  first  time  he  had  ever  seen  me. 

"  Thank  you  !  I'll  see  about  it,  and  if  I  need  you,  I'll 
send  for  you  ! ' ' 

Had  I  met  him  and  told  him  that  the  next  building  to 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  113 

the  office  was  on  fire,  he  would  have  passed  on  without 
notice  or  reply.  But  when  the  information  concerned  the 
11  make-up  "  of  the  columns  of  his  paper,  it  was  a  matter  of 
vital  importance.  From  this  time  it  seemed  to  me  that 
when  we  met  he  looked  at  me  with  a  dim,  half-conscious 
expression  as  if  he  might  have  somewhere  before  seen  me. 


XXIV. 

JEALOUSY  AND  HATRED  OF  STOREY. 

THESE  years  were  stirring  ones  in  the  career  of  the  editor. 
He  had  excited  the  envy  of  the  slow-going  newspapers 
that  were  in  existence  when  he  came  among  them.  They 
were  no  more  than  country  sheets  in  the  matter  of  enter- 
prise. Even  in  news  from  the  seat  of  war,  the  feeble  and 
meager  reports  of  the  Associated  Press  were  in  the  main 
relied  on  for  intelligence.  Special  dispatches  were  rarely 
employed ;  they  cost  money  ;  and  when  the  white-haired 
evangel  came  here  from  Detroit,  and  began  to  distribute  the 
revelation  of  news,  he  roused  the  dozing  fogies  of  the  news- 
papers from  a  comfortable  nap. 

He  spread  great,  staring  head-lines  through  his  columns, 
which  were  black,  numerous,  and  full  of  promise  of  start- 
ling information.  Wherever  a  correspondent  with  the  army 
was  within  possible  reach  of  the  telegraph-wire  he  was  in- 
structed to  use  it  without  limit. 

' '  Telegraph  fully  all  news,  and  when  there  is  no  news, 
send  rumors. ' ' 

This  was  a  telegram  which  I  received  from  Storey  dur- 
ing a  period  when  I  went  to  Thomas'  army  at  Nashville 

114 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  115 

to  temporarily  relieve  George  Rust,  who  was  the  regular 
correspondent,  but  who  was  taken  ill. 

All  the  news  by  wire,  and  rumors  where  there  is  no  news  ! 
This  was  Storey's  idea,  and  it  worried  the  Rip  Van  Winkles 
of  the  Chicago  press.  Hence  they  hated  him  ;  he  had 
awakened  them  from  a  comfortable  "snooze."  Of  course, 
they  did  not  tell  the  public  the  real  reason  of  their  dislike 
for  the  strange  editor  ;  they  professed  to  dislike  him  on  patri- 
otic grounds.  He  was  a  rebel,  a  traitor,  a  copperhead,  a 
secessionist,  a  scoundrel  who  ought  to  be  hanged  by  Judge 
Lynch,  a  reptile  that  ought  to  be  exterminated  at  sight. 

The  loyal  mob  took  all  these  teachings  as  Gospel  truth. 
Now  and  then  detachments  of  regiments,  coming  home  on 
a  furlough  and  to  recruit,  announced  days  in  advance  of 
their  coming  that,  when  they  reached  Chicago,  they  were 
going  to  "stop  long  enough  to  clean  out  that  damned 
secesh  sheet,  the  Times" 

They  didn't,  however.  There  were  boxes  of  muskets, 
pistols  and  ball-cartridges  in  the  building,  and  numbers  of 
pipes  connected  with  the  steam-chest  of  the  boilers. 
Courageous  men  were  on  watch  night  and  day,  and  others, 
well-armed,  could  be  summoned  at  a  certain  signal.  No, 
they  did  not  attack  the  "secesh  concern,"  and  it  was  well 
for  their  skins,  their  hair,  their  flesh,  and  their  bones,  that 
they  didn't! 

There  was,  however,  just  a  slight  effort  made  to  suppress 
"treason"  and  punish  a  "traitor."  One  forenoon,  four 
loyalists  in  blue  —  a  corporal  and  three  privates  —  all  brim- 


n6  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

ming  over  with  lofty  patriotism  and  poor  whisky,  staggered 
into  the  counting-room,  bent  on  destroying  a  nest  of  rebel- 
lion. 

They  were  talking  very  loudly,  albeit  somewhat  incoher- 
ently and  huskily,  of  ' '  copperhead, ' '  and  the  like,  and 
shaking  their  fists  at  the  frightened  clerks,  when  Mr.  Storey 
entered  the  door  from  the  street  and  walked  rapidly  along 
the  passage-way  in  the  direction  of  his  room  in  the  rear. 
He  paid  no  attention  to  the  patriots,  and  was  passing 
through  them,  when  the  corporal  staggered  against  him. 

1  'Who  you  a-pushin',  you  damned  old  secesh  son  of  a 
?  ' '  said  the  gallant  patriot  in  blue. 

As  quick  as  a  flash  of  light  Storey  turned,  seized  the 
corporal  by  the  throat,  and  pushed  him  backward  until  they 
reached  the  window,  through  which  the  patriot  went,  head 
and  shoulders,  carrying  a  considerable  portion  of  the  sash 
and  glass  with  him  into  the  street.  This  done,  Storey, 
without  a  glance  at  the  other  loyalists,  who  were  rapidly 
falling  back  toward  the  sidewalk,  went  to  his  room,  not 
having  uttered  a  word  during  the  occurrence. 

Still  every  loyal  citizen  believed  he  had  a  God-given 
right  to  attack  Storey  on  sight,  and  kill  him  if  he  could. 
That  patriot,  that  eminent  lover  of  human  freedom,  George 
Trussell,  a  notorious  professional  ' '  skin  gambler, ' '  felt  his 
loyalty  so  much  outraged  by  Storey's  treason  that,  see- 
ing the  editor  coming  down  the  street,  he  put  a  good- 
sized  cobble-stone  under  his  coat,  and,  as  the  ' '  traitor ' ' 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  117 

passed,  pulled  out  his  weapon  and  from  behind  struck  Mr. 
Storey  on  the  head,  felling  him  to  the  sidewalk. 

The  latter  regained  his  feet,  pulled  a  Derringer  and  fired 
at  the  ' '  avenger, ' '  who  was  backing  away  with  an  expres- 
sion on  his  face  of  mortal  apprehension.  The  shot  missed 
its  mark,  but  it  was  not  very  long  after  that  Trussell  was 
shot  dead  by  Mollie  Trussell,  his  mistress.  The  shooting 
occurred  directly  across  the  street  from  the  office  of  the 
Times. 

A  gigantic  loyalist,  mainly  hair  and  muscle,  named 
"  Horse  Eddy,"  had  his  patriotic  instincts  aggrieved  by 
Storey's  treason.  Meeting  him  one  day  in  front  of  the 
Sherman  House,  he  delivered  a  tremendous  and  unexpected 
blow  with  his  huge  fist  directly  in  the  face  of  the  editor, 
sending  him  prone  on  the  walk. 

Goodsell  was  assaulted  one  night  in  a  dark  place,  and 
beaten  until  he  was  insensible. 

Down  among  the  armies  the  war  against  the  Times  was 
carried  on.  At  Memphis  its  circulation  was  prohibited. 
Sherman,  in  his  march  south  toward  Atlanta,  forbade  its 
entrance  into  his  lines.  There  were  country  places  and 
small  towns  all  over  the  West  in  which  no  Times  were 
taken,  and  in  which  its  reading  subjected  the  offender  to 
social  and  church  ostracism.  And  yet,  despite  all  this 
opposition  ;  despite  the  attempts  of  Burnside,  the  denun- 
ciation of  the  Republican  press,  the  fierce  assaults  of  the 
pulpit,  and  the  universal  howl  of  the  stay-at-home  populace, 
the  Times  grew  in  influence  and  circulation. 


XXV. 

MR.  STOREY  AS  A  WORKER. 

MR.  STOREY  was  a  hard  worker  in  some  directions.  He 
wrote  but  little,  rarely  ever  an  editorial  with  head-line,  but 
mainly  paragraphs.  Generally  his  compositions  were  char- 
acterized by  force  rather  than  elegance.  There  was  in  his 
style  something  of  the  fugue  movement ;  the  announce- 
ment of  a  motive,  and  then  its  repetition  over  and  over 
again  ;  the  blows  of  a  heavy  hammer  delivered  repeatedly 
on  the  same  spot. 

Mr.  M.  I,.  Hopkins  and  myself  furnished  all  the  editorials, 
save  the  occasional  paragraphs  of  the  editor-in-chief,  for 
some  two  years. 

Mr.  Storey's  hard  work  in  connection  consisted  of  a  close 
supervision  of  every  department  and  detail  of  the  paper. 
He  had  a  wonderful  exactness,  as,  for  instance,  no  feature 
could  gain  publication  in  an  editorial  which  in  the  slightest 
degree  contradicted  anything  in  other  editorials,  whether 
they  appeared  in  the  same  issue  or  any  other  one,  however 
widely  the  two  might  be  separated. 

When  the  forms  were  being  ' '  made  up  "  it  was  his  cus- 
tom to  give  the  operation  a  personal  supervision.  Each 
article  had  its  place  in  the  columns  according  to  its  news 

118 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  119 

value,  or  importance  in  other  respects.  It  must  "  break 
over  "  the  top  of  the  column  ;  that  is,  where  it  reached  to 
the  next  column,  it  must  be  divided  at  a  certain  part,  so  as 
to  show  a  certain  amount  in  one  column  and  a  certain 
amount  in  the  next. 

A  special  study  of  his  was  the  use  of  type  for  display 
' ( heads. ' '  Each  heading,  according  to  the  importance  of  the 
article,  must  have  so  many  lines  of  such  a  kind  and  size  — 
a  disposition  which  he  perfected  after  a  long  and  exhaustive 
study  of  possible  type-effects.  Printing  was  the  one  art  in 
which  he  excelled. 

In  view  of  the  exactness  thus  obtained  in  the  make-up  of 
the  columns  of  the  Times,  one  can  possibly  fancy  my  dis- 
gust when,  one  day,  a  little  chap,  of  unmistakable  English 
origin,  rushed  into  my  room  —  we  had  then  moved  into  the 
new  building  on  Dearborn  Street,  in  which  each  writer  had 
his  own  apartment  —  and  in  a  fussy,  imperious,  over- 
bearing way  said  : 

"  Your  paper  his  hall  made  up  'iggledy-piggledy  1  You 
want  to  'ave  some  one  take  'old  hof  hit  who  hunder- 
stands  'is  business." 

' '  Do  you  understand  it  ?  ' ' 

"  I  know  hall  habout  hit !  " 

"You  do,  do  you  ?  Well,  you  are  exactly  the  person  we 
are  looking  for  !  You  are  the  right  man  ;  one  we  have 
been  in  search  of  for  years  !  How  lucky  that  you  came 
along  just  at  this  critical  time  !  " 

His  face  lighted  up  with  a  warm  satisfaction. 


120  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

11  That's  good  news  !  When  can  hi  commence?  " 
"  Right  away,  probably  ;  but  you'll  have  to  see  another 
man.  Go  down  to  the  corner  room,  and  knock  pretty  hard 
at  the  door,  for  the  occupant  is  rather  hard  of  hearing. 
Speak  up  in  a  high  tone  to  the  old  philanthropist  with  the 
benevolent  face  and  venerable  hair  and  beard.  He  is  a  little 
peculiar,  but  you  needn't  mind  that,  for  he's  all  right  in 
the  long  run." 

"  Aw,  thanks  !     You  hare  very  kind,  hi'm  sure  !  " 
I  opened  the  door  to  let  him  pass  out,  and,  leaving  it 
open,  stood  in  the  doorway.     Storey's  room  was  the  second 
one  from  mine. 

"  'Adn't  you  best  go  and  hintroduce  me  ?  " 
"  Not  at  all  necessary.     It's  all  right  I     Just  go  ahead  1  " 
There  was  a  tremendous  pounding  on  the  editor's  door, 
to  which,  owing,  no  doubt,  to  the  astonishment  of  Storey  at 
the  racket,  there  was  no  immediate  response.     Then  the 
door  was  again  smitten  by  a  vigorous  tattoo,  and  then  it 
was  suddenly  pulled  open,  and  Storey,  with  eyes  blazing 
with  fury,  thundered,  in  a  voice  almost  incoherent  with  rage  : 
1 '  What  do  you  want  ?  ' ' 

"  Hi'm  an  English  printer,    and  the  make-up  of  your 
paper  his  hall  'iggledy-piggledy." 
' '  What  ! ' '  came  in  cyclonic  tones. 

"Hi  say  the  make-up  of  your  paper  his  hall  'iggledy- 
piggledy,  and  hi  "  - 

"  Get  out  of  here,  you  damned  idiot,  or  I'll  throw  you 
down  the  stairway  and  break  your  cursed  neck  1  " 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  121 

Appalled  at  the  spectacle  and  the  language,  the  ambitious 
young  Englishman  fled. 

The  idea  that  any  one  should  insinuate  to  Storey  that  a 
system  on  which  he  prided  himself,  and  which  he  had  spent 
years  in  perfecting,  was  a  failure,  was  an  insult  of  intolerable 
dimensions. 

One  of  Storey's  most  arduous  industries,  which  occupied 
a  great  deal  of  his  time  and  exercised  a  great  deal  of  his 
patience,  was  in  an  effort  to  make  his  Hoe  press  do  good 
work.  There  was  a  procession  of  new  pressmen  passing 
through  the  vaults  every  day.  The  editor  would  turn  up 
when  the  edition  was  struck  off,  and,  after  an  examination 
of  the  impression,  would  thunder  at  the  pressman  :  "  You 
get  out  1" 

And  thus  one  victim  after  another  turned  up  and  disap- 
peared, till  one  day  there  came  along  a  young  fellow  who 
announced  his  desire  to  secure  a  place  as  chief  pressman  of 
the  Times.  Storey  heard  the  request,  grinning  maliciously 
as  he  thought  of  the  fate  of  the  present  applicant's  prede- 
cessors —  very  like  the  princes  who  lost  their  heads  in  their 
endeavor  to  cure  the  ailing  daughter  of  the  king. 

Nobody,  however,  was  barred,  and  the  young  man  was 
admitted  to  a  trial. 

The  next  morning  the  editor  took  up  the  latest  imprint 
of  the  issue,  and,  a  moment  later,  breathing  hard  through 
his  set  teeth,  as  he  always  did  when  he  was  mad,  he  was 
rushing  for  the  press-room.  He  found  the  new  man  under 


122  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

the  press,  engaged  in  some  mechanical  tinkering,  and  at 
once  yelled  at  him  : 

"  Here  you  !    Damn  you  !    Get  out  !    You're  no  good  !  " 

The  youth  crawled  from  under,  erected  himself  and 
exhibited  a  figure  with  a  bull  neck,  and  legs,  thighs  and 
torso  like  a  prize-fighter.  He  glared  defiantly  at  the  editor 
and  answered : 

"I'll  see  you  damned  first !  You  can't  put  me  out,  nor 
all  the  men  in  your  concern." 

Storey  seemed  to  become  paralyzed  over  this  unexpected 
and  insolent  rejoinder.  How  it  came  about  I  do  not  know, 
but  I  do  know  that  for  more  than  twenty  years,  from  the 
date  of  this  interview,  ' '  Jack  ' '  Woodlock  —  for  that  was 
the  name  of  the  athletic  young  man  —  remained  as  the 
principal  pressman  of  the  Tim'es  establishment. 

Another  pursuit  which  occupied  much  of  the  attention  of 
Mr.  Storey  was  the  study  of  the  New  York  newspapers.  In 
those  days  the  present  lavishness  of  special  telegrams  was 
unknown.  Now  ample  details  of  events  from  all  parts  of 
civilization  are  sent  to  each  great  newspaper,  to  the  extent, 
in  cases  of  importance,  of  many  thousand  words.  Then 
the  wires  were  used  more  sparingly  ;  a  brief  summary  of 
momentous  affairs  would  be  sent  by  telegraph,  and  the 
local  newspapers  would  be  relied  on  for  complete  accounts. 

New  York  wras  the  great  news  center  of  the  continent, 
and,  hence,  its  journals  were  depended  on  for  full  particu- 
lars of  transactions  of  consequence. 

On  the  news  editor  fell  the  important  duty  of  receiving 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          123 

these  papers  and  going  through  them.  All  the  news  of 
value  which  had  been  indicated  by  telegraph  had  to  be 
scissored  out  and  prepared  for  the  printer.  It  was  a  work 
which  required  extraordinary  capacity  of  a  special  character. 
As  the  New  York  issues  always  reached  Chicago  late  at 
night,  but  a  short  time  remained  to  get  them  in  shape. 

It  was  not  enough  to  cut  them  out  and  prepare  their 
headings.  Each  article  must  be  treated  according  to  its 
value ;  one  must  be  cut  down  one-half  or  more ;  others 
must  be  condensed  by  rewriting  ;  and  only  here  and  there 
were  there  instances  in  which  an  article  could  be  used  in 
its  entirety. 

It  may  readily  be  seen  that  the  news  editor  who  could 
well  perform  this  task  must  be  one  capable  of  the  exercise 
of  infinite  swiftness  in  action  and  judgment.  The  man  who 
performed  this  work  for  the  Times  was  Harry  Scovel,  who 
justly  merited  the  reputation  of  being  the  very  best  of  his 
kind  on  the  continent.  He  would  go  through  a  hundred 
newspaper  "  exchanges,"  apparently  only  glancing  at 
them,  and  yet  would  never  miss  an  item  of  the  smallest 
consequence.  - 

Each  morning  Storey  would  pore  over  the  New  York 
papers,  the  Times  and  the  city  rivals,  to  compare  the 
results.  If  any  of  the  other  local  journals  had  a  superior 
paper,  or  the  extracts  in  his  own  newspaper  were  not  what 
he  thought  they  should  be  —  too  much  or  too  little  —  dire 
was  the  racket.  Blasphemy,  curses,  savage  denunciations 
shattered  the  atmosphere. 


XXVI. 

A  MYSTERIOUS  FALUNG-OFF. 

THERE  came  a  time  when  the  collections  of  the  Times 
began  to  fall  off  in  a  most  inexplicable  manner.  Worden, 
the  junior  partner,  became  very  much  alarmed  by  these  con- 
ditions, and  finally  concluded  that  the  concern  was  destined 
to  failure,  and  induced  Storey  to  buy  him  out.  He  took 
for  his  share  in  the  paper  a  job  office  and  some  cash. 

Very  soon  after  he  had  left  the  firm,  Henry  B.  Chandler, 
the  book-keeper,  offered  his  resignation.  As  he  was  the 
only  man  wrho  knew  all  the  complications  and  intricacies  of 
the  business  of  the  establishment,  Mr.  Storey  was  com- 
pelled to  give  him  a  quarter  interest  in  the  Times  on  easy 
terms.  Strangely  enough,  the  difficulties  attending  the 
collection  of  accounts  suddenly  disappeared  ;  a  large  num- 
ber of  bills  which  had  been  pronounced  valueless  became  of 
par  value,  and  so  extended  was  the  income  from  this  source 
that  the  profits  substantially  paid  the  cost  of  Mr.  Chandler's 
quarter  interest. 

Two  or  three  years  later,  Mr.  Chandler  parted  with  his 
interest  to  Mr.  Storey  for  $80,000. 

This  transaction  suggests  a  personal  experience.  One 
day  a  party  of  gentlemen,  among  whom  was  Mr.  Storey, 

124 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          125 

were  together  somewhere,  when  my  name  was  mentioned, 
and  Mr.  Storey  announced,  after  some  complimentary 
remarks  anent  myself,  that  he  intended  to  give  me  an  inter- 
est in  the  Times.  This  was  repeated  to  me  by  one  of  his 
auditors,  and,  as  may  readily  be  believed,  inspired  me  with 
unalloyed  delight. 

For  at  least  two  months  I  was  in  a  condition  of  feverish 
excitement,  waiting  for  Mr.  Storey  to  announce  his  purpose. 
All  this  period,  which  was  an  eternity,  he  said  nothing  of 
the  thing  nearest  my  heart.  He  was  agreeable,  unusually 
so,  beamed  on  me  genially  and  exhibited  much  friendliness. 
At  last,  at  one  of  our  meetings,  he  said,  as  he  gazed  on  me 
with  great  benignancy  in  his  glance  : 

"  Wilkie,  how  would  you  like  an  interest  in  the  Times  ?  " 

Confused  by  the  offer,  it  was  with  difficulty  I  could  say 
anything  whatever,  but  I  finally  managed  to  stammer  my 
thanks. 

' '  You  are  a  young  man,  and  capable  of  much  hard,  good 
work.  As  a  member  of  the  firm,  you  would  undoubtedly 
be  willing  to  constantly  put  out  your  best  efforts." 

' '  Most  certainly  1  I  could  not  do  too  much  to  express 
my  gratitude  for  so  great  a  favor,  and  so  distinguished  a 
consideration  on  your  part. '  * 

"We'll  think  the  matter  over,  and  some  day  we  will 
resume  it.  How  would  an  eighth  interest  suit  you  ?  " 

' '  It  would  be  beyond  my  wildest  dreams  !  ' ' 

I  will  make  a  long  story  short.  For  two  years,  or  nearly 
to  the  time  of  the  great  fire,  he  dangled  before  my  lips  this 


126  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

luscious  bait,  and  kept  me  nibbling  at  it.     I  did  the  work  of 
two  men,  and  always,  when  I  attempted  to  bring  up  the 
partnership  matter,  he  would  postpone  it. 

At  last  I  became  convinced  that  he  was  only  tricking  me 
for  the  purpose  of  getting  more  work  out  of  me.  I  was  so 
enraged  over  the  conviction  that  I  wrote  him  a  note,  in 
which  I  stated  that  I  should  decline  any  further  talk  in  re- 
gard to  a  partnership. 

The  next  day,  when  I  saw  him,  he  said  : 

' '  As  to  that  partnership,  I  have  determined  never  to  take 
another  partner."  (Chandler  had  then  just  gone  out.) 
' '  But  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will  do  for  you  :  I  will  raise 
your  salary  ten  dollars  a  week,  which  will  be  between  our- 
selves, and  will  not  go  on  the  books. ' ' 

I  had  to  be  satisfied.  For  over  ten  years  I  was  paid  this 
extra  salary,  getting  it  from  him  in  checks,  in  large  amounts 
as  I  needed  it.  Whether  or  not  this  extra  sum  paid  me 
compensated  for  the  additional  labor  I  performed  during 
the  two  years  waiting,  I  am  not  prepared  to  say. 

The  Sunday  Times  was  not  started  till  a  year  or  so  after 
I  became  connected  with  the  institution.  It  almost  imme- 
diately sprang  into  popularity.  It  was  in  this  issue  of  the 
Times  that  I  took  a  considerable  part,  from  which  both 
myself  and  the  paper  attained  a  substantial  reputation.  A 
series  of  articles  entitled  "  Walks  about  Chicago  "  secured 
from  the  public  a  ready  appreciation,  which  largely  in- 
creased the  sale  of  the  Sunday  paper,  and  resulted,  in  1869, 
in  the  sale  of  several  editions  in  book  form,  in  which  many 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  127 

of  the  "  Walks"  appeared,  and  several  other  articles,  the 
work  being  entitled,  "Walks  about  Chicago,  and  Army 
and  Navy  Sketches." 

The  fire  of  1871  destroyed  the  stereotype  plates  of  this 
book  and  large  quantities  of  the  printed  edition. 

I  wish  to  state  here  that  I  have  usually  had  the  credit 
of  being  the  author  of  a  series  of  papers  which  appeared 
in  the  Sunday  Times  headed  ' '  Walks  among  the  Churches, " 
and  which  were  published  about  1873.  The  credit  is 
wholly  undeserved.  They  were  the  product  of  a  reporter, 
John  R.  Botliwell,  an  ex-captain  of  the  regular  army,  and 
who  has  since  obtained  large  notoriety  as  the  editor  of 
the  Round  Table,  which  had  a  brief  existence  in  New 
York,  and  as  the  participant,  with  Professor  Clark,  of  a 
New  England  university,  in  a  huge  mining  project  which 
failed  and  ruined  many,  and  as  a  promoter  of  railway 
schemes  in  which  he  made  an  immense  fortune. 

These  articles  created  a  tremendous  excitement,  especially 
among  church  people.  They  were  audacious  exposures  of 
social  abuses  in  church  bodies,  and  brought  to  light  innumer- 
able flagrant  iniquities  among  men  and  women  against 
whose  morals  there  had  never  before  -been  any  suspicion. 

As  the  articles  appeared  there  was  a  frightful  commotion 
created  among  the  churches  whose  misdemeanors  had 
already  been  given,  and  an  anticipatory  convulsion  among 
those  whose  turn  was  yet  to  come  and  who  did  not  know 
when,  or  at  what  point,  the  bolt  would  strike. 

There  was,  in  connection  with  this  occurrence,  a  very  un- 


128  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

complimentary  development  of  certain  feminine  traits.  So 
soon  as  the  articles  began  to  attract  attention,  the  writer 
was  inundated  with  missives  from  women,  expressing  a 
lavish  admiration  of  him  and  asking  the  privilege  of  mak- 
ing his  acquaintance.  Many  of  these,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
were  from  the  lewder  feminine  elements,  but,  at  the  same 
time,  man}7  of  the  silly  fools  were  shown  by  examination  to 
be  wives  and  even  mothers  of  irreproachable  standing  in 
their  respective  social  places. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  same  tendency  is  exhibited  in  the 
case  of  any  man  who  secures  notoriety  through  well-ordered, 
or  vicious  —  more  especially  the  latter  —  efforts. 

For  a  time,  I  published  my  ' '  Walks  about  Chicago ' ' 
without  a  signature.  One  day  a  lady,  an  acquaintance  of 
mine,  was  in  a  book-store,  and  overheard  the  proprietor 
complimenting  a  young  litterateur  on  the  success  of  his 
"  Walks  about  Chicago."  He  modestly  accepted  the  com- 
mendation and  made  no  denial  of  the  authorship. 

My  acquaintance  informed  me  of  the  incident,  and  there- 
upon I  determined  to  take  a  pen-name  for  my  articles. 
Going  along  the  street,  a  bill-board  caught  my  eye  on  which 
was  a  poster  announcing  the  opera  of  ' '  II  Poliuto, ' ' 
meaning  the  martyr.  I  adopted  Poliuto,  not  for  its  mean- 
ing, but  simply  as  a  name  distinct  from  any  other. 

It  was  a  great  concession  on  the  part  of  Storey  to  permit 
the  use  of  this  signature,  and  it  was  the  first,  and,  in  fact,  the 
only  one  that  was  allowed  for  many  years.  His  motive  was 
to  discourage  individuality  on  the  part  of  his  writers. 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  129 

When  the  Sunday  Times  was  first  started  certain  matter 
appeared  first  in  the  Saturday  issue  and  then  reappeared  in 
the  Sunday  edition. 

One  Saturday  there  appeared  over  the  signature  of  Poliuto 
an  entire  page  of  biographical  sketches  of  the  leading  mem- 
bers of  the  Chicago  bar.  On  Sunday  the  same^  article 
appeared  without  any  signature. 

"Why  did  you  leave  off  the  name  of  Poliuto  from  the 
Sunday  article  on  the  bar  ?  ' '  was  asked  Storey,  by  one  of 
my  friends. 

"  Because  I  wanted  the  Times  to  have  the  credit." 

This,  so  far  as  I  remember,  was  the  only  instance  in 
which  it  was  omitted,  during  a  use  which  extended  over 
twenty-two  years. 

Up  to  the  time  of  the  great  fire,  my  work  was  principally 
editorial  writing,  of  which  I  furnished  from  a  column  to  a 
column  and  a  half  each  day.  Considering  that  the  Times 
was  then  a  ' (  blanket  sheet, ' '  with  very  long  columns,  the 
daily  labor  was  no  small  one.  At  odd  spells  I  furnished 
translations,  mainly  from  the  French,  for  the  Sunday  issue, 
and  for  which  I  received  extra  pay  from  the  office. 

George  P.  Upton,  of  the  Tribune,  over  the  nom  de  plume 
of  ' '  Peregrine  Pickle, ' '  published  in  the  Sunday  issue  of 
his  journal  special  articles  which,  with  those  of  Poliuto, 
fairly  divided  the  attention  of  the  public,  both  meeting  with 
gratifying  success. 


XXVII. 

AN  AUDACIOUS  EDITOR. 

THE  ante-fire  course  of  Mr.  Storey  was  audacious  in  the 
extreme.  He  bitterly,  unrelentingly  opposed  and  lampooned 
President  Lincoln,  belittled  the  Federal  leaders,  made  of 
Grant  a  target  for  incessant  malignant  vituperation,  made 
light  of  national  victories  and  exaggerated  defeats.  He 
had  only  praise  for  the  Confederate  leaders  and  their 
followers,  their  courage,  their  devotion,  and  their  fighting 
qualities.  The  Northern  armies  were  composed  of  merce- 
nary aliens,  of  the  foreign  scum,  the  vermin  and  riff-raff 
of  old-world  slums  and  gutters. 

Insolent,  audacious,  defiant  as  he  was  in  war  matters,  his 
paper  became  almost  equally  noted  for  another  quality  in 
its  ante-fire  existence.  This  feature  was  its  glaring  inde- 
cency in  its  selection  of  topics  and  the  manner  of  their 
handling.  There  was  a  time  when  his  paper  was  as  rigidly 
tabooed  from  decent  families  as  it  would  have  been  had  it 
been  the  small-pox. 

Scandals  in  private  life,  revolting  details  from  the  evidence 
taken  in  police-court  trials,  imaginary  liaisons  of  a  filthy 
character,  reeked,  seethed  like  a  hell's  broth  in  the  Times' 
cauldrons,  and  made  a  stench  in  the  nostrils  of  decent 

130 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  131 

people.  All  this  was  done  with  a  purpose  :  it  was  to  attract 
attention  to  the  paper,  to  secure  notoriety,  advertising  and 
circulation. 

The  city  editor,  during  the  period  of  the  prevalence  of 
this  pestilence,  remarked  to  me,  with  an  unctuous  satisfac- 
tion : 

"  I  have  a  great  force  in  the  city  department.  Two  of 
my  men  are  ex-convicts,  ten  of  them  are  divorced  husbands, 
and  not  a  single  one  of  them  is  living  with  his  own  wife  1 " 

It  was  this  class  of  material  that  furnished  the  food  daily 
offered  on  the  local  board  of  the  Times.  It  was  a  feast 
fitted  only  for  the  tastes  and  appetites  of  vultures  and 
carrion-loving  vermin. 

The  attempt  of  L,ydia  Thompson  to  ' '  horsewhip  ' '  Mr. 
Storey  grew  directly  from  this  prevalence  of  the  indecent  in 
the  management  of  the  Times.  The  editor  had  a  quarrel 
with  Albert  Crosby,  the  owner  of  the  Opera-house  ;  in  fact, 
it  seemed  a  part  of  his  policy  to  be  at  odds  with  theatrical 
managers.  For  years  there  was  a  bitter  feud  between 
Storey  and  McVicker. 

One  of  my  first  duties  after  I  joined  the  paper  was  to 
attend  McVicker' s,  under  the  guise  of  a  critic,  but  with  in- 
structions to  denounce  everything  irrespective  of  its  merits. 
I  failed  to  fill  the  bill,  as  I  could  not  very  enthusiastically 
condemn  things  which  I  saw  to  be  meritorious.  I  was 
withdrawn  as  dramatic  critic,  and  the  position  was  given  to 
one  of  the  Chisholm  brothers,  the  one  who  was  drowned  in 
the  experimental  trip  of  a  vessel  built  expressly  to  defy 


132  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

submersion.  Chisholm  was  reading  in  the  cabin,  when  the 
vessel  was  suddenly  turned  bottom-side  up,  and  could  not 
be  righted. 

In  his  desire  to  further  his  quarrel  with  Crosby,  Mr. 
Storey  attacked  the  "  British  Blondes,"  then  performing  at 
the  Opera-house.  They  were  large-limbed,  beefy  specimens 
of  a  heavy  class  of  British  barmaids,  of  whom  Lydia 
Thompson  was  the  principal,  and  Pauline  Markham,  lieu- 
tenant. They  were  a  novelty  in  Chicago  and  created  a 
tremendous  furore  among  the  bald-heads  and  other  suscepti- 
ble masculine  elements. 

Drawing  vast  crowds,  they  were  a  source  of  profit  to 
Crosby.  To  lessen  this  patronage,  Storey  attacked  the 
chastity  of  the  British  visitors.  Attack  followed  attack,  at 
which  the  muscular  blondes  could  not  but  have  rejoiced,  as 
it  increased  the  attendance,  till  one  morning  there  appeared, 
at  the  foot  of  the  editorial  columns,  the  following  : 

' '  Bawds  at  the  Opera-house  !     Where's  the  police  ?  " 

This  was  too  much,  and  L,ydia  vowed  revenge. 

The  afternoon  of  the  morning  on  which  this  morceau  was 
offered  to  the  lips  of  the  public,  a  small  gathering,  consisting 
of  two  wromen  and  two  men,  might  have  been  seen  on 
Wabash  Avenue  north  of  Twelfth  Street.  One  of  the  men 
was  a  large,  athletic  person,  the  other  a  little  chap,  wearing 
a  single  eye-glass,  which,  as  in  the  case  of  Dundreary,  was 
constantly  slipping  from  his  eye.  The  two  women  were 
L,ydia  Thompson  and  Pauline  Markham  ;  the  big  fellow 
was  the  manager  of  the  (l  British  Blondes,"  and  who  was 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  133 

then,  or  later,  the  husband  of  L,ydia  Thompson.  The  little 
chap  was  a  newspaper  reporter,  "Archie"  Gordon,  who 
was  supposed  to  be  very  much*  enamored  with  Miss 
Thompson. 

This  group  did  not  move  far  from  the  corner.  They 
chatted  in  excited  tones  and  accompanied  their  words  with 
vehement  gesticulations,  meanwhile,  at  short  intervals, 
casting  their  glances  along  Wabash  Avenue  to  the  north. 

Coming  south  on  State  Street  was  a  couple  —  a  very 
handsome  woman,  tastefully  dressed,  about  thirty  years  of 
age,  and  a  gentleman  twenty  years  her  senior,  a  tall,  dis- 
tinguished-appearing person,  with  a  long  white  beard  and 
hair  of  the  same  snowy  hue.  They  were  in  excellent 
humor,  laughing,  chatting,  and  moving  with  a  leisurely 
step,  which  indicated  that  they  were  enjoying  their  walk. 

This  couple  left  State  Street  at  Harmon  Court,  and 
strolled  toward  the  lake.  When  they  reached  Wabash 
Avenue,  they  wheeled  to  the  south,  and  came  into  view  of 
a  party  of  four  people  waiting  on  the  next  corner. 

The  four  who  were  waiting  caught  sight  of  the  couple, 
and  at  once  exhibited  intense  agitation. 

"  He  has  a  woman  with  him,"  said  the  large  man  ;  "  we 
will  have  to  put  off  the  affair. ' ' 

* '  Why  put  it  off  ?  What  difference  does  it  make  if  there 
is  a  woman  ?  "  queried  the  little  chap. 

"  It  may  be  his  wife,"  said  Markham. 

"  I  don't  care  whether  she  is  his  wife  or  not.  If  she  is,  so 
much  the  better.  It  will  make  his  punishment  all  the  more 


134  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

humiliating!"  ejaculated  I,ydia  Thompson,  with  fierce 
eagerness.  ' '  He  has  outrageously  insulted  us,  who  are 
women,  and  if  she  is  his  wife,  he  will  get  an  idea  of  what  it 
means  to  attack  one  of  the  sex  ! ' ' 

The  pair  approached,  still  chatting.  They  saw  the  group 
at  the  corner  and  thought  nothing  of  it,  they  were  so 
absorbed  in  their  conversation.  As  they  came  opposite  the 
four,  the  latter  sprang  forward,  one  of  the  women,  as  she 
came,  drawing  a  riding-whip  from  under  her  wrap,  which 
she  raised  in  the  air,  and  with  the  words,  ' '  You  dirty  old 
scoundrel !  "  struck  at  the  face  of  the  white-haired  man. 
He  caught  the  blow  on  his  left  arm,  and,  with  his  right, 
seized  by  the  throat  the  woman  who  had  struck*  him.  At 
this  instant  the  little  chap  sprang  on  his  back  and  began 
clawing  his  face ;  the  large  man  reached  forward,  tore  the 
hand  of  the  other  from  the  woman's  throat,  and  then  the 
two  grappled. 

' '  Wilbur,  pull  your  pistol  1 ' '  shrieked  the  woman  who 
had  accompanied  the  white-haired  man. 

He  made  no  reply.  The  little  chap  still  clung  to  his  back. 
The  other  woman  of  the  group  of  four  was  belaboring  the 
elderly  man  with  a  parasol. 

The  two  men  writhed  fiercely  for  a  couple  of  moments  and 
then  went  to  the  ground,  the  white-haired  man  uppermost. 
Just  then  some  men  came  running  to  the  spot  and  separated 
the  combatants. 

The  next  morning  all  the  persons  were  before   "  Chief 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  135 

Justice  "  Augustus  Banyon,  a  paunchy,  swollen-nosed,  red- 
faced  celebrity  of  the  day. 

Mr.  Storey  stood  up  and  told  his  version  of  the  attack. 

"That  creature,  there,"  pointing  to  Lydia  Thompson, 
"  undertook  to  strike  me  with  a  whip.  I  caught  her  by  the 
throat  and  would  have  choked  out  her  life,  when  that  little 
chap,"  indicating  Gordon,  with  a  contemptuous  look  and 
gesture,  "  jumped  on  my  back,  and  that  ruffian  attacked  me 
from  the  front!" 

"  Why  did  you  not  use  your  pistol,  as  Mrs.  Storey  asked 
you  to  do  ?  "  queried  John  L,yle  King,  who  appeared  for  the 
defendants. 

"  Because  I  did  not  need  it,  sir  1 "  was  answered  in  a  tone 
as  if  Storey  regarded  the  question  as  an  impertinence. 

"The  defendants  are  found  guilty,  and  fined  each  $100 
and  costs  !  "  was  the  verdict  of  the  "  Chief  Justice. " 

Of  course  the  collection  of  the  fines  was  suspended. 

Storey  walked  out  of  the  court-room  not  showing  a  scratch 
from  the  conflict. 

The  other  city  journals,  the  next  morning,  had  articles 
with  immense  display  lines,  headed  "  Storey  Horsewhipped 
by  Lydia  Thompson,"  followed  by  distorted  accounts  of  the 
occurrence.  The  telegraph  had  been  busy  the  night  before, 
and  the  same  morning  there  appeared  in  every  newspaper  of 
importance  in  America  the  lying  statement  that  Wilbur  R 
Storey  had  been  "horsewhipped  by  Lydia  Thompson." 

For  months  and  years  the  opposition  newspapers  and 
orators  replied  to  every  political  argument  made  by  the 


I36  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

Times  with  the  statement  that  it  was  only  the  assertion  of 
the  old  scoundrel  "  horsewhipped  by  Lydia  Thompson." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  never  ( (  horsewhipped  by 
Lydia  Thompson."  He  was  attacked  by  four  ruffians,  two 
male  and  two  female,  and  would  have  strangled  one  of  the 
women,  and  broken  the  neck,  or  back,  of  one  of  the  men,  or 
both  of  them,  had  he  not  been  interfered  with  by  outsiders. 

The  headline  of  a  truthful  account  of  the  affair  should 
have  been  :  ' '  Editor  Storey  attacked  by  a  mob,  which  he 
vanquishes  single-handed." 

The  incidents  of  this  famous  and  generally-misrepre- 
sented event,  as  I  have  related  them,  are  correct.  They  are 
founded  on  conversations  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Storey,  the 
testimony  before  Banyon,  the  statement  of  Dr.  Reynolds, 
who  interfered,  and  what  was  seen  by  others. 

Storey  I  believe  to  have  been  a  thoroughly  '  *  game  ' '  man  ; 
one  who,  in  common  language,  literally  ( '  feared  neither 
God,  man,  nor  devil."  I  know  of  but  one  instance  in 
which  he  ever  showed  anything  suggestive  of  the  white 
feather. 

During  a  legislative  election,  some  time  in  about  1867  or 
'68,  a  candidate  named  Morrison  was  presented  by  the 
Republicans.  I  was  informed  by  some  persons,  who  claimed 
to  be  posted,  that  Morrison  had  deserted  from  the  army, 
whereupon  I  proceeded  to  baste  him  daily  in  the  style  which 
so  heinous  an  offense  deserved. 

One  day  I  heard  the  noisy  clatter  of  numerous  heavy-shod 
feet  coming  down  the  hall  ;  it  ceased  in  front  of  my  door, 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  137 

and  then  there  was  a  knock.  To  my  "  Come  in  !  "  there 
entered  a  clerk  named  Morrison,  who  was  in  O'Brien's  art 
and  book-store,  and  with  him  three  stalwart  Irishmen.  I 
had  known  him  for  many  years,  and  was  very  intimate  with 
him  in  connection  with  his  trade.  He  was  a  mild,  inoffensive 
young  fellow,  whom  I  very  thoroughly  liked.  I  noticed 
that  the  entire  party  seemed  very  stern  in  their  expression. 

"Hello,  Morrison,  old  boy,  how  are  you?  What  can  I 
do  for  you  ?  Sit  down,  gentlemen." 

My  kind  greeting  seemed  to  take  Morrison  by  surprise. 
He  gazed  at  me  doubtfully  for  a  moment,  and  then,  bowing 
his  head  into  his  hands,  he  began  weeping  violently.  For 
a  moment  he  could  do  nothing  but  sob,  and  then  he  burst 
out  with  : 

"  Oh,  Wilkie,  how  could  you  do  it?  How  could  you  do 
it?" 

"Do  what?  I  don't  understand  you.  What  have  I 
done?" 

"Done?     Haven't  you  accused  me  of  being  a  deserter, 

* 

and  ruined  my  reputation  and  made  me  infamous  ?  ' ' 

"Are  you  crazy?     I  accuse  you  of  being  a  deserter?     I 

have  never  even  mentioned  your  name.      Why  should  I 

charge  you  with  being  a  deserter  ?  ' ' 

He  opened  a  Times,  which  he  had  brought  with  him,  and 

pointed  to  an  editorial.     I  read  it ;  it  was  one  in  which  I 

lashed  the  candidate  Morrison.     A  sudden  light  broke  over 

me. 


138  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

"  Good  God,  Morrison  !  Are  you  the  Morrison  spoken  of 
in  these  articles  ?  ' ' 

"  I  am  the  candidate  named  Morrison  whom  you  have 
been  abusing,  and  without  the  least  shadow  of  justice." 

"  I  assure  you  that  I  never  had  a  thought  of  you.  Even 
had  I  known  it  was  you,  I  would  not  have  said  it,  for  I 
have  known  you  too  long  and  well  to  believe  that  you 
could  commit  a  disgraceful  offense  like  that  which  I  have 
been  charging  this  Morrison  with  committing.  I  am 
awfully  sorry  the  mistake  has  happened,  and  I  shall  fully 
correct  it  in  to-morrow's  issue." 

"  Thank  you  a  thousand  times  !  "  he  said,  as  a  smiling 
face  replaced  the  tear-stained  one,  and  he  seized  my  hand 
and  shook  it  heartily.  We  chatted  pleasantly  a  few 
minutes. 

"  Well,  boys,  we  can  go  now.     You  see  it's  all  a  mistake." 

( '  By  the  way,  who  told  you  that  I  wrote  these  Morrison 
articles?" 

"  Why,  the  old  man  himself,  who,  as  soon  as  we  got  in  and 
asked  about  the  Morrison  matter,  said  that  you  wrote  them 
and  that  we  must  see  you  !  Good-by  I  ' ' 

It  is  the  rule  in  newspaper  etiquette  that  the  editor  is  per- 
sonally responsible  for  everything  which  appears  in  his 
columns.  He  never  gives  the  name  of  the  writer  of  an 
article  unless  under  very  extraordinary  circumstances.  I 
have  since  believed  that  the  faces  and  stalwart  figures  of  the 
fierce-looking  Celts  who  attended  Morrison  as  a  guard  may 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  139 

have  constituted  sufficient  ' '  extraordinary  circumstances ' ' 
to  permit  the  violation  of  an  almost  inevitable  rule. 

Morrison  was  afterwards  appointed  by  the  Federal  Gov- 
ernment to  a  mission  of  some  importance  in  Mexico. 


XXVIII. 
THE  SOCIAI,  CHARACTER  OF  THE  EDITOR. 

IT  is  impossible  in  this  portion  of  my  reminiscences  to 
separate  them  from  Mr.  Storey  to  any  considerable  extent. 
He  was  an  essential  part  of  them  for  many  years  ;  in  fact, 
in  many  instances,  he  may  be  said  to  have  been  all  of  them. 

Fidelity  to  truth  compels  the  presentation  of  many  un- 
pleasant features  in  this  portraiture  of  the  great  journalist. 
He  was  grand  in  many  respects,  and  infinitely  mean  in 
others. 

In  the  discussion  of  the  phase  of  indecency  connected 
with  his  paper  the  fact  that  he,  too,  was  indecent  in  a  most 
painful  sense  cannot  be  overlooked.  He  was  possessed  by 
brutish  instincts  of  a  most  abominable  nature.  He  was  a 
Bacchus,  a  satyr,  a  Minotaur,  all  in  one.  He  thoroughly 
despised  women  ;  he  asserted  to  me  frequently  that  women 
were  fitted  only  for  a  life  in  the  harem  —  but  he  expressed 
this  conviction  in  realistic  language  which  was  intensely 
revolting. 

He  had  a  contempt  for  what  he  termed  society,  although 
how  far  this  feeling  was  due  to  the  fact  that,  during  all  his 
life  in  Chicago,  society  shut  and  double-locked  its  doors 
against  his  admission,  I  am  not  prepared  to  say.  I  have  a 

140 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  141 

sort  of  indefinite  impression  that  he  did  have  a  desire  for 
social  recognition,  and  which  I  base  on  a  single  occurrence. 
Before  the  fire,  while  living  with  his  second  wife,  there 
was  a  private  reception  given  by  some  family  on  the  North 
Side.  In  the  Times,  the  next  morning,  there  appeared  a 
most  eulogistic  account  of  the  reception,  in  which  de- 
tails were  given  at  great  length.  A  list  of  the  guests  was 
published,  the  names  of  all  save  the  editor  and  his  wife  ap- 
pearing in  the  usual  small  type,  set  ' '  solid, ' '  while  those  of 
this  single  couple  were  given  in  capitals,  with  spaces  above 
and  below,  thus  : 

MR.  and  MRS.  WILBUR  F.  STOREY. 

The  entire  article  had  somehow  the  suggestion  of  a  bid 
for  further  invitations.  It  was  very  fulsome  ;  and  the 
prominence  which  he  gave  to  his  own  name  and  that  of  his 
wife  had  the  appearance,  to  me,  at  least,  of  an  attempt  to 
impress  the  reception-giving  with  his  consequence. 

He  either  did  not  cultivate  good  men  for  friends,  or  else, 
if  many  such  were  cultivated,  they  rejected  his  advances.  I 
can  recall  but  three  men  whom  he  numbered  among  his 
friends  :  General  Singleton,  Judge  Tree  and  Judge  David 
Davis.  He  had  some  chums,  convivial  companions,  such 
as  Dr.  J.  Adams  Allen,  with  whom  he  had  in  time  a  bitter 
and  lasting  quarrel  ;  Dr.  Fowler  ;  Charles  Woodman,  of 
Springfield,  with  whom  he  afterwards  also  had  trouble,  and 
K.  G.  Asay,  a  lawyer,  whom  he  dropped  very  soon  after  his 
third  marriage. 


142  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

I  wish  here  to  state  that  what  I  term  the  indecent  phases 
of  Storey's  life  were  in  existence  in  September,  1863,  when 
I  first  knew  him,  and  terminated  in  1868,  on  his  marriage 
with  Mrs.  Harriet  Dodge. 

His  first  wife  was  Maria  P.  Isham,  from  Jackson,  Mich., 
a  petite,  slender  woman,  with  a  sweet  face,  great  sensitive- 
ness, and  an  amiable  disposition.  Their  mating  was  that  of 
the  hawk  and  the  dove.  When  I  joined  the  Times  they 
were  boarding  at  the  Sherman  House,  but  were  not  living 
together.  For  the  sake  of  appearances,  they  met  in  the 
parlors,  and  went  together  to  the  table,  and  then  separated, 
she  living  in  a  room  at  the  hotel,  he  occupying  rooms  in 
the  Portland  and  Speed  blocks. 

At  these  times,  when  they  sat  together  at  the  table,  it  was 
noticed  that  they  never  exchanged  any  words.  They  were 
one,  at  that  moment,  in  the  eyes  of  the  public,  but  thou- 
sands of  miles  apart  in  reality. 

A  divorce,  on  the  grounds  of  incompatibility,  was  quietly 
obtained,  alimony  being  granted  at  the  rate  of  $2,000  a' 
year,  secured  by  a  lien  on  a  lot  owned  by  Storey,  on  Dear- 
born Street,  on  the  unmortgaged  half  of  which  was  built 
the  new  Times  office. 

Speed's  block  was  on  the  east  side  of  Dearborn  Street, 
between  Madison  Street  and  the  first  alley  north,  and  was 
very  nearly  opposite  the  new  Times  building. 

The  rooms  occupied  by  the  editor  became  very  famous  for 
their  infamous  practices.  It  was  rumored  —  in  fact,  known 
to  be  true  —  that,  night  after  night,  they  were  the  theater  of 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  143 

disgusting  orgies  in  which  Storey,  whisky,  debased  women, 
and  occasionally  a  boon  companion  or  two,  played  the  prin- 
cipal parts. 

During  this  period  of  his  life,  in  which  his  brute  nature 
dominated,  he  was  often  the  victim  of  intoxication.  I  have 
seen  him  in  broad  daylight  reeling  out  of  a  saloon  across 
the  street  from  the  office,  so  overcome  that  he  could  only 
ascend  the  stairway  to  his  room  with  much  difficulty,  and, 
once  there,  he  would  be  for  hours  incapable  of  attending  to 
his  usual  duties. 

I  do  not  present  this  distressing  picture  for  the  purpose 
of  a  lesson,  but  solely  that  I  may  show  the  real  Storey  with 
fidelity  to  the  truth. 

Storey,  neither  in  the  teachings  of  many  portions  of  his 
own  acts,  nor  in  his  utterances,  was  an  advocate  of  tem- 
perance in  the  use  of  stimulants.  If  an  employe  neglected 
his  duty,  and  intoxication  was  found  out  to  be  the  cause, 
Storey  was  unsparing  in  punishment. 

"  I  don't  care  how  much  or  how  often  any  of  my  people 
get  drunk,  if  they  don't  slight  my  business.  They  may  be 
drunk  at  all  other  times,  if  they  like,  but  when  they  are  at- 
work  for  me,  they  must  keep  sober  or  get  out  !  " 

In  1867  the  Times  had  been  removed  to  the  new  marble- 
front  building  on  Dearborn  Street,  on  the  west  side,  and 
on  the  northwest  corner  of  the  alley  between  Madison  and 
Washington  Streets.  The  editor  knew  nothing  of  building 
material  or  prices,  and  was  shockingly  swindled  in  the 
erection  of  the  new  structure.  Its  hallways  were  narrow, 


144  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

its  floor-joists  and  partitions  weak,  and  the  probabilities  are 
that,  had  it  not,  a  few  years  later,  burned  down,  it  would, 
in  time,  have  tumbled  into  the  basement  from  disintegration. 

It  was  in  the  year  1867  that  the  period  of  Storey's  brute 
life  practically  ended.  He  left  the  infamous  den  in  Speed's 
block,  and  took  up  his  residence  with  Mrs.  Harriet  Dodge 
and  her  sister,  who  lived  on  Congress  Street.  Mrs.  Dodge 
was  of  a  good  family  from  an  Kastern  State,  where  her 
husband  had  committed  some  offense  for  which  he  was 
sentenced  to  the  penitentiary.  Mrs.  Dodge  came  west  to 
begin  life  anew,  and  rented  rooms  which  were  ostensibly 
for  "  roomers,"  and  in  which  Mr.  Storey  found  a  home. 

Mrs.  Dodge  was  a  charming  woman  of  about  thirty  years 
of  age,  with  a  clear,  natural  complexion,  brown  hair,  pre- 
possessing features,  wonderfully  soft  and  sympathetic  blue- 
gray  eyes,  and  a  graceful  figure  and  carriage.  She  had  been 
well  bred,  and  possessed  winning  manners. 

Mr.  Storey  assisted  her  in  securing  her  divorce,  and  then 
obtained  the  pardon  of  her  husband.  That  the  relations  of 
Mr.  Storey  and  Mrs.  Dodge,  during  this  period,  were  of  a 
doubtful  kind,  was  generally  believed.  If  true,  the  scandal 
was  condoned  when,  in  the  summer  of  1868,  they  went  to 
New  York  and  were  duly  married. 

It  was  some  months  before  the  new  wife  recognized  that 
her  exclusive  duty  confined  her  to  her  husband.  She  was 
in  the  bloom  of  life,  with  warm  currents  pulsating  along 
her  veins,  fond  of  amusements,  display  and  companion- 
ship. He  was  past  the  half  century,  indisposed  to  operas 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  145 

and  theatrical  entertainments,  and  longing  for  the  comforts 
of  a  home  life  from  which  he  had  so  many  years  been 
debarred. 

She  attempted  a  few  flights  on  her  own  account,  but  found 
that  the  vigilance  of  her  husband  supervised  every  move- 
ment that  she  made,  and  that  for  months  every  motion  on 
her  part  had  been  watched  and  known  to  her  husband. 
She  tried  vehement  denial  and  hysteric  tears  when  charged 
with  certain  practices,  but  was  crushed  with  a  single 
remark  which  I  myself  heard  the  old  man  make  to  her. 
It  was  terse,  vigorous,  conclusive  : 

"  Don't  deny  it !     Damn  you,  I've  caught  you  at  it  1  " 

Mrs.  Harriet  Dodge  Storey  recognized  the  inevitable. 
She  honestly  renounced  all  her  flirtations,  devoted  herself 
sincerely  and  assiduously  to  home  life  and  the  comfort  of 
her  husband,  and  succeeded.  From  this  period  up  to  the 
date  of  her  death,  in  1873,  she  and  her  Mr.  Storey  enjoyed  a 
domestic  life  of  I  are  felicity,  not  disturbed  by  a  single  jar. 

She  became  a  hard  student.  She  took  up  French,  joined 
an  Episcopal  church,  and  became  a  thoroughly  devoted 
wife,  and  a  deeply  pious  Christian.  For  the  present  I  dis- 
miss this  amiable  woman,  but  she  shall  appear  again  in 
these  reminiscences. 

I  am  firmly  of  the  conviction  that  the  long- continued  ex- 
cesses of  Mr.  Storey  had,  at  the  period  of  his  marriage, 
effected  an  impairment  of  his  constitution  to  a  somewhat 
marked  extent.  He  was  then  but  forty-nine  years  of  age, 


146  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

and  yet  bore  the  appearance  of  a  man  fifteen  years  older. 
How  far  this  impairment  affected  his  future  will  appear 
later. 


XXIX. 

AND  HYDE:. 


STORK  Y,  like  a  majority  of  men,  had  a  dual  life.  He 
was  almost  as  distinct  in  his  two  natures  as  Jekyll  and 
Hyde.  On  the  surface  he  was  grand,  superb  in  his  dignity 
and  appearance,  and  heroic  in  the  impressions  which  he 
created  on  those  who  contemplated  him  at  a  distance. 

The  astonishing  and  altogether  phenomenal  success  of 
his  newspaper,  the  tremendous  influence  it  exerted  for  good 
and  evil,  its  ever-astounding  succession  of  sensations,  its 
frequent  and  insolent  defiance  of  the  proprieties  of  social 
life,  its  audacious  position  on  the  issues  and  the  leaders  of 
the  civil  war,  furnished  the  data  on  which  the  world  formed 
its  estimate  of  the  editor. 

In  his  real  life  there  was  scarcely  a  trace  of  the  grandeur 
which  characterized  his  public  career.  He  had  in  private 
none  of  the  repose,  the  serene  immobility  which  he  pre- 
sented in  public.  He  was  as  irritable  as  an  old  woman  with 
a  shattered  nervous  organization,  or  a  hypochondriac  with 
ruined  health.  With  all  his  apparent  boldness,  he  was  as 
shrinking  as  a  young  girl  in  the  presence  of  strangers. 

I  once  asked  him  concerning  the  reasons  for  the  gruff 
reception  which  he  often  gave  callers  with  whom  he  was 
not  acquainted. 

147 


148  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

1  ' How  do  you  account  for  your  frequent  ungracious 
receptions  of  strangers  ? ' ' 

"  The  fact  is  it  is  a  species  of  timidity.  I  never  had,  when 
I  was  young,  an  opportunity  to  meet  men  and  women  and 
become  accustomed  to  society.  My  reception  of  strangers 
is  oftener  than  not  a  fear  that  I  may  not  say  the  right  thing 
in  the  right  place  ;  that  I  may  not  be  able  to  do  myself 
justice." 

This  is  true.  It  was  often  the  case  that  he  could  not 
talk  to  the  assembled  members  of  his  staff  without  a  tremor 
in  his  voice.  So  sensitive  was  he  about  his  conversational 
powers  that  generally,  when  he  had  anything  to  commu- 
nicate to  his  staff,  he  did  it  by  correspondence. 

A  peculiarity  of  Storey  was  a  way  he  had  of  making  me 
uncomfortable  without  saying  anything.  I  used  to  furnish 
never  less  than  a  column  of  editorial  matter,  or  a  daily 
quantity  equal  to  a  column  and  a  half  of  the  modern  page, 
and  at  three  o'clock  would  lay  my  matter  before  him  on  his 
table.  He  would  at  once  look  up  with  apparent  surprise, 
mingled  with  indignation  ;  he  would  pick  up  the  manuscript 
and  flirt  over  the  ends  of  the  paper  as  if  to  show  how  little 
there  was  of  it,  pulling  out  his  watch  meanwhile  and 
glancing  at  it  —  the  entire  pantomine  saying  as  plain  as  if 
in  words : 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned  !  Quitting  this  time  of  day,  and 
only  this  little  bit  of  matter  !  " 

At  first  I  was  so  impressed  with  this  exhibition  that  I 
would  work  nights  to  increase  my  contribution  ;  but  he 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  149 

enacted  the  part  just  the  same,  and  I  was  forced  to  conclude 
that  he  did  it  solely  to  overawe  me  and  make  me  uncom- 
fortable. 

After  handing  him  my  matter  each  afternoon,  I  would 
resume  my  seat  for  the  purpose  of  devoting  some  time  to 
reading.  In  a  moment  or  two  there  would  be  heard  from 
his  table  the  ripping  of  paper,  accompanied  by  what  sounded 
like  snorts  of  contempt. 

This  method  of  annoyance  was  a  part  of  his  system. 
During  the  first  years  I  was  with  him  he  avoided  everything 
like  commendation.  He  never  seemed  to  be  willing  to  admit 
that  a  man  had  done  a  good  thing,  or,  no  matter  how  hard  he 
worked,  that  he  was  doing  all  he  ought  to  do.  The  effect  of 
this  treatment  was  to  keep  men  of  a  certain  sensitiveness  on 
the  rack.  They  were  always  under  the  depressing  convic- 
tion that  they  were  failing  to  do  good  enough,  or  a  sufficient 
quantity  of  work,  and  were  always  striving  for  improve- 
ment. It  was  killing,  but  it  produced  incessant  effort  to 
advance. 

He  astonished  me  by  speaking  to  me  one  morning,  after 
I  had  been  with  him  a  couple  of  years.  I  had  just  returned 
from  the  Alleghany  regions,  whence  I  had  written  up  the 
oil  excitement  which  had  just  then  broken  out.  As  he 
reached  my  table  he  astonished  me  by  stopping  and  saying  : 

"  Did  you  have  a  good  time  on  your  trip  ?  " 

"Yes,"  I  managed  to  stammer,  "  but  I  ruined  a  suit  of 
clothes." 

He  laid  down  a  roll  of  bills  in  front  of  me  and  passed  on 


150  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

without  another  word.  The  roll  contained  fifty  dollars.  It 
was  the  only  case  of  the  kind  in  my  experience  with  him  in 
the  many  years  of  our  intercourse. 

Mr.  Storey  was  exceedingly  vindictive  in  his  nature  and 
possessed  little  or  no  consideration  for  the  feelings  of 
others.  His  newspaper  was  a  battery  which  kept  up  an 
incessant  fire  on  the  crowds  about  it,  and  whose  result  was 
the  infliction  of  many  ghastly  wounds.  Of  all  those  who, 
in  earlier  years,  sought  his  presence  to  complain  that 
they  had,  without  reason,  been  maligned  or  damaged  by  his 
newspaper,  I  know  of  no  instance  in  which  the  complain- 
ant was  not  received  uncivilly,  often  brutally,  and  turned 
away  with  his  original  injury  intensified  by  his  reception. 
As  a  rule,  he  even  refused  to  listen  to  such  cases. 

Isolated,  inaccessible,  surrounded  by  men  who  spoke  with 
bated  breath,  and  who  received  his  commands  with  the 
deference  of  Oriental  servants,  he  fancied  himself  supreme, 
infallible.  The  groans,  the  shrieks  of  those  wounded  by 
his  missiles  simply  conveyed  to  him  a  gratifying  conviction 
of  the  unerring  skill  of  his  marksmanship.  The  yell  of  a 
victim  was  to  him  much  as  the  ringing  of  the  bell  in  target 
practice  —  indicating  a  center-shot. 

He  had  a  thorough  contempt  for  the  masses,  and  had  no 
more  compunction  in  lashing  them  than  had  the  old  slave- 
drivers  in  the  case  of  their  gangs.  If  they  "  hollered,"  it 
was  proof  that  they  were  hurt,  which  was  exactly  what  he 
wanted. 

His  vindictiveness  was  one  of  his  marked  features. 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  151 

"  We  must  go  for  '  gut-fat  *  in  So-an-So,"  was  his  favorite 
instruction  to  his  hounds  as  he  unleashed  them  for  the  chase. 

The  lawyer  who  appeared  against  him  was  sure  to  become 
the  target  of  Storey's  battery.  The  judge  before  whom  the 
case  was  tried  and  lost ;  the  jury  who  rendered  an  unfa- 
vorable verdict ;  the  witnesses  who  appeared  on  the  side  of 
the  opposition  —  all  of  these,  some  dark  night,  when  least 
expecting  it,  were  liable  to  get  a  charge  of  buckshot  from 
gunner  Storey  through  their  parlor  windows. 

These  are  some  of  the  qualities  of  this  most  remarkable 
man.  He  was  as  much  two  characters  as  if  part  of  him 
had  lived  in  Africa  a  thousand  years  ago,  and  the  remain- 
der were  a  resident  of  the  present  generation. 


XXX. 

His  PENURIOUSNESS. 

MR.  STOREY  rose  from  a  printer  and  a  druggist  to  the 
foremost  heights  of  journalism.  He  was  a  meteor  of  unus- 
ual splendor  and  dimensions,  and  the  reflection  of  his  light 
still  shines  above  the  horizon.  He  was  a  composite  of 
greatness  and  meanness,  of  dignity  and  buffoonery,  with  the 
bearing  of  a  polished  gentleman,  and  with  a  tongue  and 
the  habits,  at  times,  of  a  blackguard.  He  was  now  imperial, 
and  again  a  Uriah  Heap  in  his  humility.  He  was  some- 
times generous,  but  niggardly  in  the  majority  of  cases.  He 
would  draw  his  check  for  a  thousand  dollars  for  a  special 
telegram,  and  scrimp  the  pay  of  a  cheap  reporter. 

Most  of  the  writers  on  his  paper  used  pencils,  and  so  close 
was  Storey  that,  to  save  a  trifling  use  of  Fabers,  he  provided 
tong-like  arrangements  which  would  clasp  the  end  of  a  pen- 
cil and  permit  a  further  use  of  it  after  it  had  become  too 
short  to  be  held  in  the  fingers. 

I  recall  an  occurrence  in  which  a  prominent  citizen  was 
shot  dead  by  another  citizen  equally  prominent,  and  which 
was  the  most  sensational  homicide  that  ever  took  place  in 
Chicago,  but  which,  owing  to  the  large  number  of  social 
interests  involved,  was  squelched  without  any  of  the  inner 

152 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  153 

and  more  scandalous  features  coming  to  the  surface.  I 
heard  of  the  shooting  about  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  within 
a  very  few  minutes  after  it  occurred.  I  knew  all  the  per- 
sons connected  with  the  tragedy,  and  lent  my  assistance  to 
the  reporters  in  collecting  the  facts,  with  the  result  that  our 
paper  distanced  all  the  other  morning  journals  in  the  quan- 
tity and  quality  of  the  presentation  of  the  event. 

In  those  days  the  street-cars  did  not  run  after  midnight. 
It  was  some  miles  to  my  home,  and,  being  detained  until 
nearly  daylight,  I  went  home  in  a  hack  which  I  had  been 
using  some  during  the  night.  I  sent  in  a  bill  for  the  five 
dollars  which  I  paid  for  the  vehicle,  with  a  statement  of 
the  facts  as  to  my  participation  in  the  working-up  of  the 
murder.  Storey  refused  to  pay  it,  not  even  condescending 
to  assign  any  reason. 

I  made  an  extended  trip  through  the  Indian  Territory 
and  the  Southwest,  during  which,  near  the  close  of  the 
journey,  in  crossing  a  deep  stream,  all  my  accounts,  notes 
and  the  like  were  carried  away  by  the  water.  When  I  came 
to  make  up  my  expense  account,  I  found  that  the  total  fell 
some  fifty  dollars  short  of  the  amount  that  I  had  expended. 
Storey  refused  to  pay  the  difference,  and  only  cashed  the 
amount  I  charged  up  from  memory. 

I  became  involved  in  the  famous  Early  libel  suit  in  con- 
sequence of  a  labor  performed  under  instructions  from 
Storey  and  the  legal  direction  of  his  attorney,  Hon.  W.  C. 
Goudy.  In  the  final  trial  he  absolutely  declined  to  employ 
council,  and  I  had  to  depend  upon  A.  S.  Trude  and  Emery 
A.  Storrs,  who  volunteered  to  defend  me. 


154  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

In  another  place  I  have  mentioned  the  fact  of  his  having 
offered  me  a  partnership,  and  shown  that  it  Was  probably 
done  for  the  purpose  of  inducing  me  to  increase  my  efforts 
as  an  employe. 

Mr.  Storey  had  a  special  dislike  for  printers,  and  regarded 
them  as  vermin.  A  difference  came  up  with  the  union 
printers  who  at  one  time  held  possession  of  the  office,  and 
in  which  he  was  compelled  to  yield.  The  union  secured 
control  of  the  composing-room,  and  thereafter  the  noted 
hard  breathing  through  his  clenched  teeth  —  indicative  of 
rage  —  was  heard  as  he  strode  about  the  building. 

That  he  should  be  successfully  defied  by  a  printer  was  the 
deadliest  of  insults.  For  at  least  two  months  his  exhibition 
of  anger  was  constant,  and  then  he  suddenly  became 
changed ;  his  expression  of  wrath  softened,  disappeared, 
and  was  succeeded  by  something  in  the  nature  of  a  smile. 

The  union  men,  who  keenly  watched  him  as  he  came 
into  the  composing-room  every  night  to  supervise  the 
''make-up,"  saw  this  transformation  and  were  happy. 
They  knew  that  the  hissing  breath  boded  evil,  and,  when 
there  appeared  a  suggestion  of  a  grim  smile  on  his  face,  it 
was  concluded  that  he  had  become  reconciled  to  the  inevit- 
able, and  that  henceforth  the  union  would  be  a  fixture  in 
the  establishment  of  the  Times. 

For  a  month  or  so  the  union  was  elated,  and  word  was 
sent  all  over  the  country  that  the  Times  had  finally  become 
a  union  newspaper. 

One    evening  the  printers  strolled  into  the  composing- 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  155 

room  and  were  immeasurably  stunned  at  a  spectacle  which 
presented  a  young  lady,  "stick"  in  hand,  in  front  of  every 
"  case,"  and  picking  up  type  with  the  swift  exactness  of  a 
veteran.  It  was  a  coup  d*  etat  which,  in  an  hour,  resulted 
in  the  throwing-out  of  the  union  and  the  installation  of  the 
female  compositors. 

It  was  when  the  union  men  saw  these  women  busy  at  the 
cases  that  there  dawned  on  them  the  meaning  of  the  half- 
smile  which  had  lately  illumined  Storey's  face.  They  were 
overwhelmingly  routed,  and  the  Times  was  once  more  a 
"rat"  office. 

So  soon  as  the  union  had  obtained  possession  Storey 
had  devised  a  scheme  for  revenge.  A  secluded  place  was 
secured,  and,  with  entire  secrecy,  women  were  selected  and 
taught  type-setting,  the  effort  requiring  some  months.  As 
a  checkmate  to  the  union,  the  move  was  a  complete  suc- 
cess, but  in  all  other  respects  it  was  a  total  failure. 

Women  do  not  seem  to  have  the  endurance  necessary  for 
all-night  work  —  at  least,  such  was  the  case  with  those 
employed  by  the  Times.  They  were  inclined  to  too  much 
gossip  ;  they  lacked  in  mechanical  exactness,  and  were  often 
absent  from  indisposition.  As  they  fell  out  of  the  ranks,  their 
places  \vere  taken  by  masculine  non-union  printers.  In 
time,  both  the  feminine  and  the  union  printers  were  ex- 
cluded. 

Storey's  extraordinary  firmness  in  his  fight  against  the 
union  is  shown  by  the  fact  that,  although  the  members 
of  that  body  succeeded  several  times  in  getting  posses- 


I56  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

sion  of  the  works,  they  never  gained  a  permanent  foothold. 
There  were  repeated  strikes,  during  which  Storey  took  off 
his  coat  and  worked  at  the  case,  assisted  by  such  employes 
of  the  literary  department  as  understood  type-setting,  and 
such  "  rat "  printers  as  could  be  picked  up,  and  brought  out 
as  much  of  a  paper  as  he  could  until  non-union  printers 
from  other  cities  could  be  obtained  to  fill  the  cases. 


XXXI. 

MR.  STOREY  AS  A  WRITER. 

MR.  STOREY  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  powerful, 
slashing,  copious  writer.  This  is  both  true  and  false.  He 
wrote  but  very  little,  rarely  more  than  a  two  to  a  ten-line 
paragraph.  He  had  always  the  hardest  kind  of  work  to  get 
started.  He  would  begin  to  write,  and,  after  a  line  or  two, 
would  rip  up  his  manuscript  and  toss  it  into  the  waste- 
basket. 

It  was  not  unusual  for  him  to  tear  up  the  beginning  of  a 
half-dozen,  or  even  a  larger  number  of  articles,  before  getting 
under  motion.  He  was  balky,  or  skittish,  or  frisky  at  the 
send-off.  He  indulged  in  a  good  deal  of  scoring.  He  made 
many  false  starts  before  giving  himself  the  word  ' '  Go  1  " 

He  exhibited  great  genius  and  skill  in  the  management  of 
his  employes.  He  was  always  on  the  watch  for  intrigues  in 
the  various  departments,  and  to  prevent  combinations  among 
them  he  encouraged  antagonisms.  He  used  espionage  among 
his  force.  I  communicated  to  him  one  day  some  grave 
dereliction  of  duty  on  the  part  of  one  of  his  men.  In 
response,  he  invited  me  to  come  around  to  his  rooms  in 
Speed's  block. 

There  we  talked  over  the  particular  case  which   I   had 


158  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

reported  to  him,  when,  after  some  conversation  on  other 
matters,  he  said : 

' '  You  can  help  me  a  great  deal  in  this  matter  of  preserv- 
ing discipline  among  the  men  and  preventing  combinations 
against  me." 

' '  I  should  be  very  glad  to  be  of  any  use.  What  can  I 
do?" 

"  It  is  very  essential  that  I  should  know  all  that  is  going 
on  in  the  office,  and  somebody  must  keep  an  eye  on  men 
and  things  and  keep  me  informed.  I  think  you  could  do 
this  in  first-class  shape." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Storey,  that  would  be  playing  the  part  of  a 
spy  !  I  am  sure  that  I  can  be  of  more  use  to  the  Times  in 
other  and  more  legitimate  work." 

He  did  not  insist,  but  I  am  certain  that  he  had  no  trouble 
in  getting  others  to  fill  the  place  which  I  declined. 

That  there  was  no  end  of  schemes,  projects  and  intrigues 
is  certain.  The  prosperity  of  the  Times,  anterior  to  the 
great  fire,  the  apparent  ease  with  which  money  was  made 
toward  the  close  of  the  war,  the  inflation  of  values,  and  the 
boom  in  business  led  to  the  conviction  that  the  profitable 
establishment  of  a  journal  greater  even  than  the  Times  was 
a  perfectly  feasible  operation.  Goodsell,  John  R.  Walsh, 
then  a  rising,  ambitious  news-dealer,  myself,  and  one  or  two 
others  held  many  a  secret  consultation  in  regard  to  starting 
a  new  paper. 

Figures  were  made  by  the  thousand,  estimates  were  pro- 
duced by  the  quantity,  the  brightest  of  prospects  were 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          159 

developed,  and  a  certainty  of  success  assured.  And  yet, 
just  at  the  time  when  everything  was  most  promising,  the 
scheme  would  mysteriously  collapse.  I  have  always 
believed  that  one  of  the  most  enthusiastic  of  the  conspir- 
ators was  in  the  pay  of  Storey  —  a  spy  who  learned  our 
secrets  to  betray  them. 

When  Mr.  Storey  had  a  paralytic  stroke  in  Switzerland  in 
1873,  there  was  a  combination  in  the  Times  office  which 
proceeded  instanter  to  divide  up  the  effects  of  the  supposed- 
to-be  moribund  editor.  James  W.  Sheahan  was  to  be  editor- 
in-chief,  and  the  other  places  were  to  be  parceled  out 
among  several  other  ambitious  people  connected  with  the 
establishment.  Unfortunately  for  their  hopes  Storey  did 
not  die,  but  lived  nearly  ten  years  longer  —  long  enough  to 
defeat  the  purposes  of  those  who  were  intending  to  fill  his 
vacant  shoes. 

Storey  in  1867,  '68  and  '69  expressed  a  frequent  wish  to 
sell  his  newspaper.  He  started  by  authorizing  me  to  dis- 
pose of  it  for  a  quarter  of  a  million  dollars.  I  negotiated 
with  some  local  officials  and  capitalists  and  readily  found  a 
combination  willing  to  make  the  purchase  —  a  substantial 
share  of  stock  to  be  given  me  for  my  efforts  in  securing  the 
sale. 

When  I  gave  Mr.  Storey  information  as  to  my  success,  he 
asked  for  time  for  consideration,  and  finally  decided  that  he 
must  have  $300,000.  I  got  an  offer  at  this  figure,  and  then 
he  ' '  went ' '  a  hundred  thousand  ' '  better. ' '  I  secured  the 
promise  of  the  needed  capital  for  this  third  offer,  when  he 


160  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

advanced  the  price  another  notch,  and  I  relinquished  the 
attempt.  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  was  willing  to  sell  at  the 
first  figure  offered,  but  raised  it  when  he  found  that  he  could 
get  his  price.  He  was  anxious  to  sell  wrhen  he  thought  he 
couldn't,  and  unwilling  to  sell  when  he  found  he  could  get 
a  purchaser. 


XXXII. 

THE  NEWSPAPER  MEN  OF  CHICAGO. 

WHEN  I  joined  the  Times,  in  September,  1863,  that  sheet 
had  but  one  editorial  writer  besides  Mr.  Storey,  and  who,  at 
best,  was  a  slim  contributor.  After  me,  four  years  later, 
Andre  Matteson  was  given  a  place  on  the  staff.  For  a 
short  period  Isaac  Newton  Higgins  filled  a  staff  appoint- 
ment, and  was  followed  by  James  B.  Runnion,  who  took  his 
place  just  before  the  fire. 

The  city  editor  —  or  "  principal  reporter, ' '  as  Storey  for 
a  long  time  insisted  on  terming  that  employe,  for  he  did 
not  care  to  have  it  understood  that  there  was  any  editor  on 
the  paper  save  himself —  was  James  H.  Goodsell.  He  was 
succeeded  by  Charles  Wright,  formerly  connected  with  a 
newspaper  at  Peoria,  who,  in  '68  or  '69,  fell  dead  from 
heart-disease,  and  who  was  a  very  hard-working,  capable 
newspaper  man. 

Mr.  Storey's  verdict  on  poor  Wright  was  : 

1  ( An  efficient,  faithful  man,  equal  to  the  excellent  com- 
bination and  handling  of  great  masses,  but  lacking  in  the 
manipulation  of  details. ' ' 

On  one  occasion,  I  have  forgotten  what,  he  wrote  within 
fifteen  hours  a  seven-column  article  of  the  old  blanket-sheet 
length  of  the  Times. 

161 


162  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

That  Mr.  Storey  had  some  regard  for  Charley  Wright 
was  shown  at  his  funeral,  which  was  held  at  the  Second 
Baptist  Church,  one  of  the  Goodspeeds  officiating.  There 
was  an  immense  attendance  in  the  church  and  on  the  side- 
walks. The  editor-in-chief  strolled  up  Morgan  Street  till 
within  fifty  feet  or  so  of  the  crowd,  where  he  leaned 
negligently  against  the  board  fence  of  a  vacant  lot.  He 
stood  as  if  posing  and  was  apparently  the  least  concerned 
spectator  at  the  obsequies. 

The  successor  of  Wright  became  an  immediate  question, 
A  week  or  so  before,  a  well-written  article  had  been  received 
from  a  young  man,  city  editor,  I  think,  of  an  Omaha  daily 
journal.  Mr.  Storey  was  so  struck  with  the  production 
that  he  wrote  at  once  an  offer  of  the  city  editorship,  which 
was  as  promptly  accepted. 

The  local  newspapers  and  citizens  gave  him  a  grand 
* '  send-off ;  "  he  published  a  pathetic  farewell  to  his  old 
friends,  in  which  he  asserted  that  he  was  only  led  to  leave 
them  by  the  tender  of  a  higher  position.  The  journals  gave 
hearty  good-bys  to  him  as  he  left,  and  felicitated  them- 
selves that  they  were  being  called  on  by  mighty  cities  like 
Chicago  to  supply  the  demand  for  a  higher  order  of  genius. 

The  new  appointee  reached  here  after  dark,  and  saw  Storey, 
who  simply  told  him  that  his  room  and  desk  were  waiting 
for  him  on  the  same  floor,  and  to  go  at  once  and  take 
possession  ;  he  was  occupied  and  would  talk  with  him  at 
another  time.  He  found  his  way  to  the  proper  room,  and 
informed  a  reporter  at  the  desk  : 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  163 

' '  I  am  the  new  city  editor  !  ' ' 

"  Ah,  indeed  1  Glad  to  see  you.  This  is  your  desk. 
Sit  down  and  make  yourself  at  home  ! ' ' 

There  were  two  or  three  reporters  loafing  about  the  room. 
The  new  man  glanced  over  the  number,  and  then  he  spoke  : 

' '  Do  any  of  you  gentlemen  write  in  the  descriptive  style 
of  composition  ? ' ' 

They  gazed  at  him  with  something  of  curiosity  and  awe. 

The  next  morning,  at  exactly  eleven  o'clock,  Mr.  Storey 
entered  his  room  slowly,  seated  himself,  removed  his  gloves 
leisurely,  and  then  picked  up  a  copy  of  the  morning  issue 
of  the  Times.  He  ran  his  eye  over  the  head-lines :  they 
were  apparently  all  right  ;  the  make-up  presented  nothing 
especially  objectionable.  Suddenly  his  eye  caught  some 
item,  and  a  savage  scowl  took  possession  of  his  face.  Scar- 
let hues  flashed  over  it.  He  pulled  furiously  the  handle  of 
a  bell. 

Joe,  the  black  janitor,  entered. 

"  What  makes  you  so  slow  ?  "  he  stuttered.  "  Go  and 
tell  that  new  man  in  the  city  department  to  come  here  at 
once  !" 

"  Yes,  sah  ;  right  away,  sah  !  " 

The  new  ' '  principal  reporter  ' '  came  in  a  moment  later. 
What  visions  of  commendation  filled  his  soul  as  he  passed 
over  the  short  distance  between  his  room  and  that  of  the 
editor  may  never  be  known  outside  his  own  recollection. 
They  may  have  been  ecstatic  ! 

If  they  were,  they  were  rudely  dispelled  the  instant  his 


164  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

eye  caught  the  scowling,  purple  countenance  and  blazing 
glances  of  the  infuriate  senior. 

The  "Old  Man"  was  in  his  worst  mood,  a  volcano  in 
eruption,  and  boiling  over  with  molten  wrath.  He  choked 
as  he  burst  out : 

c '  What  do  you  mean,  you  damned  idiot,  by  printing  this 
scandalous  piece  about  Mr.  Blank  —  you  miserable  fool  ?  ' ' 

' '  It  was  handed  —  in  by  a  reporter,  and  —  I  —  I  sup- 
posed it"— 

"You  'supposed,'  did  you?  What  right  had  you  to 
suppose  anything  ?  That  man  is  one  of  my  best  friends. 
You  are  discharged  !  Get  out  !  ' ' 

For  two  weeks  a  strange  young  man  from  the  trans-Mis- 
souri region  was  noticed  here  and  there  in  the  Garden  City 
in  a  condition  of  beastly  inebriation,  and  then  he  disap- 
peared. 

Alexander  C.  Botkin,  a  young  journalist  connected  with 
the  Milwaukee  press,  was  tendered  the  vacancy,  and 
accepted  it.  He  was  below  medium  stature,  slender,  with  a 
massive  head,  quick  and  agile  in  motion,  with  a  boyish 
face,  blue-gray  eyes,  light  hair  and  beardless  cheeks.  He 
proved  to  be  one  of  the  most  intelligent,  energetic,  capable 
city  editors  ever  possessed  by  the  Times. 

One  of  his  qualities  was  a  courage  that  defied  all  odds, 
despite  his  slight  build  and  almost  effeminate  appearance. 
One  night  he  entered  Foley's  saloon  and  called  for  a  glass 
of  whisky.  Standing  next  to  him  was  a  notorious  ' '  tough ' ' 
and  bruiser,  the  well-known  "Jim"  Tracey,  a  rough-and- 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  165 

tumble  fighter  and  a  vicious  brute.  He  was  ' '  fighting- 
drunk  ' '  ugly,  and,  seeing  the  small  figure  of  Botkin  beside 
him,  he  thought  it  was  a  good  opportunity  to  insult  him. 
When  the  latter  had  poured  out  his  drink,  Tracey  glared  at 
him,  and,  growling,  "That  isn't  good  for  boys  !  "  picked  up 
the  glass  and  emptied  it  on  the  floor. 

Botkin  turned,  surveyed  his  big  opponent,  and,  without 
an  instant's  hesitation,  struck  him  in  the  face.  The  ruffian 
was  astounded  at  the  unexpected  assaults,  but,  recovering 
himself,  launched  out  his  heavy  fist,  and  sent  Botkin  on  his 
back  to  the  floor.  Botkin  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant,  and 
faced  his  opponent.  Again  he  was  felled  by  a  powerful 
blow,  once  more  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  rushed  at  Tracey, 
and  was  sent  down  a  third  time  by  a  tremendous  blow. 

He  was  not  yet  conquered,  and  tried  once  more  to  reach 
the  rough,  when  the  crowd  interfered  and  separated  the  men. 

Botkin  did  not  like  the  gruff  manners  of  the  "  Old  Man," 
although  the  latter  valued  him  as  indispensable. 

"I  am  waiting  impatiently,"  he  said  to  me,  "for  the 
time  to  come  when  I  can  walk  into  Storey's  office  and  say 
to  him,  '  You  damned  old  scoundrel,  you  may  go  to  sheol 
with  your  paper  1 '  " 

He  was  with  the  Times  several  years,  and  then  the  hoped- 
for  time  came.  He  received  a  fine  offer  from  a  Milwaukee 
daily,  and  resigned. 

"  I  can't  get  along  without  you  !  "  said  Storey. 

I  visited  Botkin  in  Milwaukee,  and  went  with  him  to  the 
composing-room,  where  the  forms  were  being  "made  up." 


166  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 


this  article  break  at  such  a  point,  if  you  please,'* 
said  he  to  the  foreman. 

"  That's  Storey  and  not  Storey,"  I  remarked. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"It  was  Storey  ordering  the  break  at  the  top  of  the 
column,  but  the  '  please  '  was  not  Storey." 

Botkin  was  a  Republican  during  his  service  on  the  Times. 
He  was  afterwards  made  Marshal  of  the  Territory  of  Mon- 
tana. After  a  year  or  so,  he  was  totally  paralyzed  below 
his  hips,  and  tried  the  physicians  of  the  Bast  for  cure,  but 
gained  no  relief  nor  any  hope  of  recovery.  One  would 
think  that  such  a  condition  would  discourage  and  send  any 
man  into  retirement. 

Not  so  with  the  plucky,  ambitious  ex-city  editor  of  the 
Chicago  Times.  He  is  a  busier  man  than  ever.  He  prac- 
tices law,  has  held  important  municipal  positions  in  Helena, 
and  has  traveled  thousands  of  miles,  stumping  the  country 
in  the  interests  of  his  party.  He  attends  the  theater  and 
other  public  places,  riding  to  and  from  his  home  in  his  own 
carriage,  into  which  he  is  carried  by  an  attendant,  as  also  in 
and  out  of  all  places  which  he  visits. 

He  has  accumulated  a  large  property,  lives  in  fine  style, 
has  excellent  general  health,  is  the  husband  of  a  charming 
and  devoted  wife,  and  the  father  of  lovely  children. 

Any  other,  or  almost  any  other  man,  who  had  encoun- 
tered the  experience  of  Mr.  Botkin,  at  the  time  of  his 
paralysis,  would  have  long  since  been  dead  and  forgotten. 

John  W.  Sickles  was  the  chief  of  the  commercial  depart- 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  167 

ment,  and  his  assistant  was  a  man  named  Rock,  who  was 
always  smoking  a  black,  ill-smelling  pipe.  He  was  one  of 
the  divorced  men  of  whom  there  were  so  many  in  the 
establishment. 

Sickles  was  —  and  is  —  a  stalwart  man,  six  feet  tall,  full- 
chested,  erect,  with  a  ruddy  complexion,  and  vast  legs.  He 
was  regarded  as  one  of  the  finest  commercial  editors  in  the 
West,  and  had  the  peculiarity  that,  when  he  came  into  the 
office  in  the  morning,  he  always  went  straight  to  the  cold 
water  faucet,  and  swallowed  a  couple  of  quarts  —  more  or 
less  —  of  the  aqua  pura,  as  if  he  were  possessed  of  a 
tremendous  thirst. 

''John  "  was  my  benefactor.  In  reporting  the  prices  he 
had  no  superior  for  accuracy ;  but  in  the  commercial  and 
financial  editorials  he  was  weak,  or  else  he  had  engage- 
ments somewhere  else  on  the  nights  when  this  class  of 
editorials  needed  to  be  written.  It  was  in  this  direction 
that  he  became  my  munificent  patron.  On  these  evenings 
he  would  say  : 

' '  I  have  an  engagement  to-night,  which  I  must  keep. 
You  write  the  editorial,  and  here  is  five  dollars." 

Many,  many,  and  many  were  the  five-dollar  bills  which 
the  liberal  giver  passed  over  my  shoulder. 

Hugh  McCulloch  was  then  being  advocated  for  Secretary 
of  the  Treasury.  "John  "  was  an  ardent  supporter  of  the 
Indiana  candidate,  and  the  five-dollar  bills  continued  their 
inflow  as  I  argued  his  appointment  in  strong  editorial 
articles  in  the  financial  department.  McCulloch  was  duly 


i68  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

appointed,  and  then  John  told  me  he  was  going  to  Wash- 
ington. 

" What  for?" 

"McCulloch  is  Secretary  of  the  Treasury.  There's 
going  to  be  a  big  ring,  and  I  am  going  to  get  in  it.  There'll 
be  no  trouble  about  it,  for  the  Secretary  knows  that  I  sup- 
ported him,  and  how  well  it  was  done." 

' '  Shall  you  tell  Mr.  Storey  as  to  your  trip  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes,  for  I  want  him  to  be  in  it,  too." 

He  informed  the  senior  what  he  wished  to  do.  The  latter 
hesitated  so  long  in  answering  Sickles  that  I  am  inclined  to 
believe  that  he  was  disposed  to  take  a  hand  in  the  purposed 
deal.  Caution,  however,  prevailed,  and,  while  not  forbid- 
ding the  journey,  he  advised  against  it. 

Sickles  went  east,  and  Storey  discharged  him  by  tele- 
graph. 

John  afterwards  returned  to  Chicago  to  plague  the  man 
who  discharged  him. 


xxxin. 

NEWSPAPER  MEN  OP  CHICAGO. —  Continued. 

IN  the  autumn  of  1861,  on  my  way  to  the  front,  then  at 
Cairo,  I  stopped  in  Chicago  and  had  the  pleasure  of  making 
the  acquaintance  of  Andre  Matteson,  then  co-editor  of  the 
Morning  Post  with  James  W.  Sheahan.  Mr.  Matteson,  at 
that  time,  looked  very  much  as  he  does  to-day,  despite  the 
lapse  of  years :  his  hair  and  beard  were  white,  his  face 
stern,  his  utterance  harsh,  and  his  expression  repellant.  His 
general  reputation  was  that  of  being  a  man  morose  in 
character  and  inclined  to  misanthropy. 

Despite  this  popular  opinion,  I  have  since  learned  that  he 
has  another  and  pleasanter  phase  to  his  nature.  There  are 
times,  at  long  intervals,  perhaps,  when  his  voice  can  become 
as  soft  as  that  of  a  woman,  his  mouth  wreathed  with  genial 
smiles,  and  his  utterances  full  of  warmth  and  kindliness  — 
but  not  often. 

I  like  Mr.  Matteson  for  several  reasons :  one  is  that  he 
stated  in  his  paper  that  I  was  the  greatest  army  correspond- 
ent in  the  world,  and  another  was  that  he  gave  me  trans- 
portation to  Cairo.  In  consideration  of  a  great  compliment 
and  a  pass,  I  agreed  to  write  a  letter  from  the  front  to  his 
paper.  Whether  he  paid  me  the  compliment  with  a  view 

169 


170  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

to  get  the  letter  from  the  front,  or  I  was  induced  to  write 
the  letter  on  account  of  the  free  transportation,  I  am  not 
prepared  at  this  distance  to  state. 

However  that  may  be,  it  led  to  the  formation  on  my  part 
of  a  strong  liking  for  him,  which  was  strengthened  by  the 
fact  that,  in  the  early  part  of  February,  1862,  at  Cairo, 
where  he  had  come  in  the  interest  of  the  distribution  of  his 
paper,  and  to  pick  up  some  news  from  the  army  of  Grant 
operating  up  the  Tennessee  and  Cumberland  Rivers,  I 
met  him  again  and  resumed  the  acquaintance.  The  Morn- 
ing Post  did  not  circulate  quite  as  well  as  he  expected,  and, 
as  a  consequence,  he  was  a  little  gruff  in  his  moods  and 
humors. 

It  was  on  the  second  day  of  the  investment  of  Fort  Donel- 
son  by  Grant  that  I  landed  from  a  steamer  a  couple  of  miles 
below  the  Confederate  fort  and  started  up  on  the  left  bank 
of  the  Cumberland  to  reach  the  Federal  troops,  which  were 
located  on  the  heights  around  Dover,  about  three  miles 
above.  The  weather  was  of  the  most  atrocious  description. 

It  was  thawing  very  slightly,  but  was  frightfully  cold. 
The  snow  was  a  semi-frozen  slush,  into  which  the  feet  of 
the  pedestrian  sank  above  the  ankles.  The  sky  was  black 
as  Krebus.  Keen  winds  coming  from  the  bluffs  pierced  the 
marrow  like  arrows  of  ice. 

It  was  about  a  mile  from  where  I  landed  that  occurred 
the  incident  which  strengthened  my  already  warm  liking  for 
Mr.  Matteson.  Half  a  mile  ahead  of  the  point  where  I  was 
passing  along,  a  gully  ran  down  from  Dover,  squarely  inter- 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  171 

seating  the  road  that  I  was  traveling,  and  which,  at  the  point 
of  intersection,  was  being  vigorously  shelled  by  a  couple  of 
Confederate  twelve-pound  guns  on  the  Dover  bluffs. 

The  road  led  from  the  landing  to  Grant's  headquarters. 
As  I  came  within  sight  of  this  gully,  I  saw  a  solitary  figure 
emerge  from  it  and  move  with  a  fairly  rapid  step  along  the 
road  in  my  direction.  His  head  was  bent  to  protect  his 
.  face  from  the  wind,  and  the  pose  of  his  body  was  that  of  a 
weary  man.  He  was  dressed  in  citizen's  clothes  and  carried 
a  small  portfolio.  When  he  came  close  enough  for  recog- 
nition, I  discovered,  to  my  intense  surprise,  that  it  was  my 
Chicago  friend  Matteson. 

The  sternest  look  which  face  has  ever  worn  in  civil  life  ; 
the  most  disgusted  expression  that  human  eyes  ever  looked 
upon,  characterized  his  countenance. 

' '  Great  heavens,  Matteson  !  Is  that  you  ?  ' ' 
' '  Yes,  what  little  of  me  is  left, ' '  he  replied  in  a  most 
lugubrious  tone.  ' '  Have  you  anything  to  eat  ?  I'm  nearly 
starved  to  death.  I  haven't  had  a  mouthful  in  fifteen 
hours.  I  have  wandered  all  over  these  cursed  woods  and 
hills  to  find  Grant's  headquarters,  and  never  caught  a 
glimpse  of  them." 

Fortunately  I  had  in  a  haversack  some  fried  pork  and 
hardtack,  which  I  divided  with  him.  He  admitted  at  the 
time  that  I  had  saved  his  life. 

Mr.  Matteson  has  a  great  many  of  the  qualities  of 
Thomas  Carlyle,  among  them  his  obstinacy  and  a  suggestion 
of  what  some  people  term  crankiness.  He  is  a  thoughtful 


172  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

and  forcible  writer,  a  fine  linguist,  a  well-read  lawyer,  and 
withal  somewhat  notional. 

I  think  in  a  sense  it  is  to  Mr.  Matteson  that  Elliott  Shep- 
ard  owes  his  peculiar  religious  journalistic  practices.  Many 
years  ago,  in  a  conversation  with  me,  Mr.  Matteson  stated 
that,  if  he  had  a  newspaper  to  suit  himself,  he  would  make 
each  issue  of  the  week  the  organ  of  some  particular  religious 
denomination  ;  say,  on  Monday,  Baptist  —  being  wash-day  ; 
Tuesday,  Methodist;  Wednesday,  Presbyterian,  and  so  on. 

Who  would  suppose  that  the  grave,  stern,  philosophical 
student,  the  admirer  of  Herbert  Spencer,  Huxley  and 
Tyndall,  was,  in  the  fifties,  a  rollicking  humorist  who 
kept  the  town  in  a  roar  over  the  signature  of  "  Gee-Willi- 
kins  !  "  Or  that  one,  for  many  years  a  leading  writer  on 
the  Chicago  Times,  was  the  young  man  who,  long  ago,  in 
reporting  the  council  proceedings,  invariably,  in  every 
alternate  speech,  simply  used  the  three  words  : 

1 '  Deacon  Bross  spoke. ' ' 

In  1867,  Storey  asked  me  one  day  what  I  knew  about 
Andre  Matteson. 

"I  have  known  Mr.  Matteson  several  years,  and  know 
him  to  be  a  man  of  fine  ability  as  a  journalist,  versatile, 
well-informed  politically,  and  a  most  desirable  man  for  an 
editorial  writer.  You  will  find,  however,  that  you  will  have 
to  hold  him  under  very  strict  discipline,  for  he  is  very  opin- 
ionated, stiff-necked  and  set  in  his  own  way." 

"  I  think,"  responded  Mr.  Storey,  "  that  we  can  manage 
that  part  of  it," 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          173 

Mr.  Matteson  was  employed  and  wore  the  yoke  for  many 
years  with  all  the  meekness  and  unresisting  docility  of  a 
well-broken  ox.  He  was  one  of  the  most  valued  members 
of  the  staff. 


XXXIV. 

NEWSPAPER  MEN  OP  CHICAGO. —  Continued. 

IN  1856,  two  lanky  students  from  Union  College  took 
advantage  of  the  possession  of  an  extra  five-dollar  bill  to  run 
down  to  New  York.  Fares  on  the  Hudson  River  were  only 
half  a  dollar  from  Albany,  and  this  rendered  it  possible 
for  even  students  to  travel. 

These  two  went  wandering  about  in  the  streets  of  that 
great  city,  staring  around  with  "  open-eyed  wonder,"  until, 
in  the  course  of  their  tramp,  they  found  themselves  in  front 
of  a  time-worn  building  —  the  New  York  Tribune. 

At  that  period  Horace  Greeley  was  the  most  gigantic 
figure  of  the  day.  His  eccentricity,  his  queer  dress,  his 
white  hair,  his  fringe  of  whiskers  next  to  his  throat,  his 
babyish  face,  his  small,  innocent  blue  eyes,  his  pug  nose, 
his  one  trousers  leg  caught  on  the  top  of  his  boot,  his 
shocking  white  hat  —  all  had  aided  to  add  to  his  notoriety. 

The  students  halted  in  front  of  a  narrow  stairway, 
wooden,  worm-eaten,  worn,  dirty,  which  led  between  dirt- 
covered  walls  to  the  upper  floor  of  the  building.  This  the 
two  students  climbed,  and,  with  the  insouciance  of  country- 
bred  youths,  began  the  inspection  of  the  upper  floor.  They 
entered  various  rooms  without  the  formality  of  knocking, 

i74 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  175 

and,  among  others,  one  large  room  with  a  low  ceiling,  very 
dark  and  very  dirty,  and  in  which  were  seated  half  a  dozen 
or  more  men  at  different  tables,  all  busily  engaged  in  writ- 
ing, or  in  reading  newspapers  or  books. 

The  students  stood  watching  the  crowd  as  might  the 
visitors  the  animals  in  a  menagerie.  Not  one  of  the  men 
looked  up  or  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  the  two 
strangers.  Among  them  was  one  man  conspicuous  for  a 
massive  head  and  a  great  cataract  of  brown  hair  that 
flowed  down  below  his  shoulders.  After  a  short  stay,  the 
two  students  left  the  room,  and,  meeting  a  man  in  the  hall, 
asked  him  if  he  knew  who  was  the  man  with  the  long 
brown  hair  in  that  room.  He  said  that  was  Charles  A. 
Dana. 

This  was  the  first  time  that  I,  one  of  the  two  students, 
saw  a  man  who  was  destined  to  become  famous  as  an  editor, 
an  encyclopedist,  a  member  of  the  Federal  War  Department 
and  a  horticulturist. 

In  May  of  1862,  I  followed  a  Federal  detachment  along 
a  narrow  road  through  a  bottomless  swamp,  until  we 
reached  an  open  country  beyond.  In  the  distance  was  a 
small  log  house,  half  tumbled  down,  into  which  I  directed 
my  steps.  Some  Federal  cavalry  were  standing  about  the 
house.  The  door  was  open  ;  I  entered.  There  was  one  oc- 
cupant —  a  man  seated  at  a  table  with  his  back  toward  me, 
and  who  was  engaged,  as  I  learned  from  the  clicking,  in 
working  a  telegraph  instrument. 

With  the  freedom  assumed  by  the  army  correspondent,  I 


176  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

strode  across  the  floor,  my  heavy  cavalry  boots  making  a 
tremendous  clatter,  when  a  voice  roared  out  from  the 
table : 

' '  G d you  I     Keep  quiet  !  ' ' 

The  figure  never  turned  its  head.  This  was  the  second 
time  I  saw  Charles  A.  Dana,,  encyclopedist,  horticulturist, 
etc. ,  and  who  was  at  that  time  Assistant  Secretary  of  War 
under  Stanton. 

The  region  was  Farmington,  distant  a  few  miles  from  the 
famous  battle-ground  of  Shiloh.  Beauregard  was  on  one 
side  of  the  swamp,  and  Halleck  on  the  other.  Two  hours 
after  I  saw  the  Assistant  Secretary,  I,  in  common  with 
several  thousand  Federals,  was  falling  back  through  the 
swamp,  with  Beauregard  shelling  the  fugitives  and  making 
the  brief  retreat  one  of  the  most  frightful  that  I  encountered 
during  the  war. 

One  day  in  the  city  of  Chicago,  in  1865,  I  was  going 
along  Madison  Street,  when  I  met  a  fine-looking  gentleman 
whom  I  recognized  as  the  long-haired  writer  of  New  York, 
the  telegraph  operator  of  Farmington  who  swore  at  me,  the 
man  who  had  come  to  Chicago  to  start  the  Republican  — 
Charles  A.  Dana,  editor  and  member  of  the  Federal  War 
Department. 

He  had  come  here  at  the  instigation  of  a  large  number 
of  Republican  capitalists  for  the  purpose  of  running  out, 
extirpating,  the  Chicago  Tribune. 

Everybody  knows  the  result  of  this  experiment.  He  had 
a  wonderful  newspaper,  the  very  best  of  machinery,  the 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  177 

cleanest  and  most  artistic  of  type,  and  brought  with  him 
some  intellectual  assistants  of  a  high  order  of  ability.  The 
Republican  was  the  first  octavo  printed  in  the  West.  The 
Tribune  stood  ;  the  Republican  went  down,  and  was  sold  to 
J.  B.  McCullagh,  who  reduced  it  in  size,  and  made  it  a 
penny  paper,  which  soon  afterwards  disappeared  in  the  con- 
flagration of  1871. 

It  was  soon  after  the  establishment  of  the  new  paper  that 
John  W.  Sickles  ' '  got  in  his  work ' '  against  the  Times.  He 
quietly  came  over  to  the  Times  office  late  in  the  twilight, 
and,  at  all  hours  when  darkness  obscured  his  movements,  he 
put  his  lips  to  the  ear  of  the  best  talent  on  Storey's  staff,  and 
insinuatingly  informed  them  that  a  large  increase  in  wages 
would  accompany  the  transfer  of  their  allegiance  to  the 
Republican.  Several  of  the  old  employes  were  thus  seduced, 
among  others  the  famous  news  editor,  Harry  Scovel. 

The  tempter  approached  me  among  others,  and  offered 
pecuniary  inducements  of  substantial  dimensions,  if  I  would 
leave  Mr.  Storey  and  join  my  fortunes  with  Mr.  Dana. 
The  politics  of  the  new  organ  did  not  suit  me,  and  I  tem- 
porized with  Sickles  long  enough  to  convey  the  fact  of  the 
offer  I  had  received  to  Mr.  Storey,  who,  as  I  expected, 
' c  raised ' '  Mr.  Sickles  and  ' '  went  him  ' '  five  dollars  a 
week  better. 

Then  Mr.  Storey  went  for  Mr.  Sickles  in  the  obscurity  of 
the  twilight  and  the  darkness  of  the  night,  and  drove  him 
with  many  curses  and  blasphemies  into  the"  street. 

One  of  the  most  valuable  men  on  the  Times  was  John  F. 


iy8  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

Finerty,  who  was,  at  times,  a  reporter  in  city  matters,  a 
social  writer,  and  a  species  of  factotum. 

His  greatest  work  was  his  correspondence  from  the  front 
during  the  Indian  war  in  the  seventies.  He  showed  him- 
self to  be  the  possessor  of  undaunted  courage,  and  of  an  en- 
durance which  no  hardship  could  impair. 

In  the  numerous  bloody  contests  which  occurred  in  the 
columns  which  he  accompanied,  he  was  always  on  the 
skirmish  line,  handling  his  Winchester  as  effectively  as  the 
best  of  them.  He  was  complimented  by  commanding 
officers  in  their  official  reports  for  his  daring,  his  coolness, 
his-  willing  participation  in  the  savage  fighting,  the  long 
marches,  the  furious  storms,  the  mud,  the  living  on  horse- 
flesh when  starvation  was  pending. 

He  has  been  elected  to  the  Federal  House  of  Representa- 
tives, and  is  now  the  editor  of  the  Citizen ,  a  journal  mainly 
devoted  to  advocating  the  independence  of  Ireland. 


XXXV, 

THE  NEWSPAPER  Rou,  CONTINUED. 

MANY  years  ago,  before  the  great  fire,  I  strolled  one  day 
into  the  court-room  in  which  was  being  tried  the  world-re- 
nowned divorce  case  of  Stewart  vs.  Stewart.  The  plaintiff 
was  the  daughter  of  the  wealthy  grocer  Washington  Smith, 
and  the  defendant,  Hart  L,.  Stewart,  son  of  the  famous  divine 
of  the  same  name. 

Taking  a  seat  at  the  reporters'  table,  I  first  noticed  the 
gigantic  father  of  the  plaintiff ;  then  the  blonde  complainant 
herself,  almost  as  high  in  stature  as  her  father  ;  and  the  two 
Harts,  neither  reaching  middle  height  —  an  array  of  Brob- 
dingnagians  and  lyiliputians. 

There  was  a  large  gathering  of  reporters  present.  There 
were  many  famous  lawyers  and  jurists  engaged  in  watching 
the  case,  which,  owing  to  the  high  social  position  of  the 
litigants,  and  the  many  curious  scandals  involved,  attracted 
a  lively  and  universal  attention. 

At  the  farther  end  of  a  large  table  devoted  to  the  use  of 
the  press,  there  sat  a  young  man  who  had  some  points 
which  attracted  my  notice.  He  was  apparently  quite 
young,  not  more  than  perhaps  twenty  years  of  age,  and 
with  a  dense,  bushy,  close-cropped,  dark  beard  that  so 

179 


i8o  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

widened  the  lower  part  of  his  face  as  to  give  it  an  oval  ap- 
pearance with  the  narrow  end  upwards.  There  was  paper 
before  him  and  pencil,  indicating  his  connection  with  the 
newspapers.  He  seemed,  however,  to  pay  no  attention  to 
the  case  :  he  was  closely  engaged  in  reading  a  bulky  pam- 
phlet in  a  paper  cover,  which  I  saw  was  printed  in  German. 

He  was  slender,  with  brilliant  dark  eyes,  dark  hair  and  a 
preoccupied,  studious  face.  The  next  issue  of  the  Repub- 
lican had  a  full  and  well  written  account  of  the  proceedings 
of  the  trial,  and  I  learned  that  the  reporter  who  handled  it 
was  the  bearded  young  person  whom  I  had  noticed  the  day 
before,  engaged  in  reading  the  German  pamphlet. 

This  is  the  first  time  I  saw  a  journalist  who  has  since  won 
an  enviable  reputation  in  his  profession.  It  was  Frederick 
H.  Hall,  who  had  been  brought  west  by  Dana,  and  who 
remained  with  the  Republican  until  May,  1867,  when  he 
went  over  to  the  Tribune  as  a  reporter.  Mr.  Hall,  who,  as 
is  well  known,  was  many  years  the  city  editor  of  the 
Tribune,  has  many  qualities  which  have  given  him  a  high 
public  estimate  in  his  profession,  and  has  other  phases  of 
character  quite  unique  which  have  contributed  almost  as 
much  to  his  fame  as  has  the  brilliant  manner  in  which  he 
discharged  the  arduous  duties  of  the  position. 

One  of  his  accomplishments  is  developed  in  a  memory 
whose  retentive  power  is  probably  without  a  rival.  In  all 
the  facts  connected  with  his  professional  career,  from  the 
very  beginning  up  to  date,  there  is  probably  not  a  single 
incident  of  great  or  small  importance  that  he  has  not  filed 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  181 

away  in  the  magazine  of  his  mind.  He  is  like  the  assistant 
of  a  librarian  at  Washington  who  has  the  faculty  of  finding 
at  a  moment's  notice  any  book,  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or 
night,  of  the  Hundreds  of  thousands  of  volumes  in  the  col- 
lection. 

In  the  same  way  Mr.  Hall  possesses  a  remarkable  ability, 
without  using  the  files  of  his  paper,  to  refer  to  the  date  of 
any  occurrence  and  all  the  details  connected  with  it.  In 
this  respect  he  is  a  complete  index  and  an  encyclopedia  in 
one.  He  reads  and  writes  a  dozen  or  more  languages  with 
entire  facility.  He  is  very  retired  in  his  habits,  hardly 
ever  being  found  apart  from  his  official  desk  except  when 
at  home. 

Several  years  ago  he  was  promoted  from  the  position  of 
city  editor  to  one  on  the  editorial  staff,  his  successor  in  the 
city  department  being  John  B.  Wilkie,  son  of  the  writer  of 
this  work. 

Mr.  Hall  is  somewhat  noted  for  the  possession  of  a  fine 
vein  of  mild  sarcasm,  and  in  some  of  his  phases  he  develops 
a  trait  somewhat  cynical  in  its  composition.  There  is 
related  of  him  an  anecdote  which  admirably  illustrates  the 
delicate,  sharp  and  severe  quality  of  his  sarcastic  ability. 

A  new  reporter  had  been  employed,  an  entire  stranger  to 
Mr.  Hall,  who,  within  a  day  or  two  after  being  engaged, 
entered  Mr.  Hall's  room,  and  with  a  genial  smile  addressed 
the  city  editor  : 

"Hello,  Fred!" 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  responded  Mr.  Hall,  in  an  engaging 


182  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

tone,  but  with  a  peculiar  glitter  in  his  eye.  ' '  My  dear 
fellow,  pray  don't  be  so  formal  !  Call  me  Freddie." 

Mr.  Hall  is  one  of  the  plainest  and  most  unpretentious 
among  the  journalists  of  the  city.  In  the  summer-time  he 
may  generally  be  seen  wearing  a  straw  hat  ' '  of  the  vintage 
of  '67,"  as  his  confreres  describe  it,  and  now  and  then 
satisfying  his  desire  for  nicotine  with  a  plain,  long-stemmed, 
red  clay  Powhatan  pipe,  of  a  more  ancient  ' '  vintage ' '  even 
than  his  straw  hat. 

When  interested,  he  is  a  facile,  intelligent  and  most  agree- 
able conversationalist ;  his  range  of  knowledge  is  as  broad 
almost  as  the  universe  :  there  appears  to  be  no  fact  in 
philosophy,  politics,  science,  religion,  physics,  law,  history, 
and  all  other  themes,  with  which  he  is  not  on  familiar 
terms. 

He  has  done  much  by  his  admirable  management  of  the 
city  department  to  aid  his  newspaper  in  securing  the  high 
position  it  occupies  in  the  handling  of  local  news. 

It  may  be  added  that,  before  coming  to  Chicago  with  Mr. 
Dana,  Mr.  Hall  was  the  private  secretary  to  Secretary  of 
War  Stanton.  In  addition  to  his  numerous  accomplish- 
ments he  is  a  most  expert  stenographer. 

Among  the  journalists  whom  I  met  occasionally  and  knew 
with  some  degree  of  intimacy  and  admiration  for  his  sturdy, 
upright  character,  was  "Deacon"  William  Bross,  a  man 
with  a  massive  frame,  a  superficially  stern  face  and  immense 
overhanging  brows  that  fell  over  his  eyes  like  the  mane  of  a 
wild  horse.  He  was  especially  remarkable  during  the  war, 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  183 


particularly  at  its  opening,  for  his  unbounded  and  some- 
what crude  enthusiasm  in  the  interests  of  the  North.  The 
soul  of  the  good  Deacon  was  vexed  beyond  endurance  by 
the  delay  of  McClellan  on  the  Potomac,  and  thereupon  Mr. 
Bross  took  the  management  of  the  campaign  in  his  own 
hands  and  gave  as  the  watchwords  : 

"Let  the  boys  go  !" 

His  soul  was  wearied  with  the  delays  of  generalship, 
tactics  and  strategy  ;  he  wished  to  abolish  all  these  and 
trust  the  ending  of  the  war  to  ' '  the  boys. ' '  So  great  was 
his  confidence  in  the  patriotism  and  enthusiasm  of  the 
masses,  that  he  fully  believed  and  urged  that  an  undis- 
ciplined mob,  if  loosened  and  permitted  to  carry  out  its 
patriotic  inspiration,  would  march  on  and  capture  the  Con- 
federate capital  without  difficulty.  It  is,  perhaps,  well 
that  his  suggestions  were  not  adopted  by  the  military 
authorities. 

Under  his  rough  exterior  he  had  a  kindly  soul,  was  a 
man  of  great  benevolence  —  in  the  toleration  of  political 
opposition  —  and  was  regarded  as  a  substantial  and  patriotic 
worker  for  the  interests  of  Chicago  and  of  his  newspaper. 
He  was  very  active  and  energetic  in  the  development  of  the 
resources  of  his  State.  He  was  well  received  by  histor- 
ians and  geologists,  in  whose  labors  he  took  a  strong 
personal  interest.  So  well  was  this  fact  recognized  that  a 
prominent  peak  in  the  Rockies,  not  far  from  and  but  a 
trifle  smaller  than  that  named  after  the  famous  Pike,  now 
bears  the  name  of  the  late  editor. 


XXXVI. 

MORE  CHICAGO  JOURNALISTS. 

ONE  of  the  journalists  of  Chicago  who  attracted  my 
favorable  attention  was  Dr.  Charles  H.  Ray,  who,  at  the 
time  I  knew  him,  was  one  of  the  editors  of  the  Evening 
Post.  He  had  been,  as  I  understand,  associated  with  Joseph 
Medill  in  the  Tribune  as  a  partner  and  an  editorial  writer. 
When  connected  with  the  latter  journal,  he  wrote  an  article 
entitled,  ' '  Nig,  Nig,  Nigger  ! ' '  which  was  a  most  bitter 
invective  against  Catholicism  for  its  alleged  union  with  the 
Democrats  in  their  political  course  toward  the  negro.  It 
excited  universal  comment  among  all,  and  intense  indigna- 
tion in  the  religious  body  attacked. 

The  Catholics  remembered  the  article  when  he  died  in 
1870,  and  something  of  the  same  class  picture  that  has  been 
painted  of  the  death-bed  of  Voltaire  by  a  religious  body 
was  given  of  the  last  moments  of  Dr.  Ray.  It  was  a  picture 
a  trifle  less  revolting  than  that  of  the  French  infidel,  but  it 
was  one  full  of  horrible  suggestions. 

Dr.  Ray  was  a  man  of  very  strong  convictions.  His 
head  was  large  and  massive,  with  gray  hair,  a  large  jaw, 
and  every  evidence  in  his  eyes  and  bearing  of  an  invincible 
determination.  He  had  the  torso,  neck,  thighs  and  legs  of 

184 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  185 

an  athlete,  and  his  writings  were  an  excellent  reproduction 
in  their  vigor  of  the  physical  make-up  of  the  man. 

While  connected  with  the  Evening  Post  he  sent  for  me  to 
come  and  sup  with  him  one  evening  at  a  restaurant.  He 
took  a  private  room,  ordered  a  fine  supper,  including  a  bot- 
tle of  wine,  and  then  proceeded,  after  considerable  desultory 
talk  on  men  and  politics,  to  make  me  a  guarded  proposition 
to  the  effect  that  I  should  receive  an  interest  in  the  Post. 
I  gave  a  partial  consent  to  the  consideration  of  the  offer, 
and  at  the  parting  it  was  the  understanding  that  I  was  to 
hear  from  him  within  three  weeks.  Whether  it  was  the 
fact  that  then,  having  an  abstemious  fit,  I  refused  to  join  him 
in  drinking  the  bottle  of  wine,  or  that,  after  the  conversation, 
my  sentiments  did  not  suit  him,  or  he  found  that  I  was  not 
up  to  the  grade  which  he  had  supposed  I  possessed,  I  do 
not  know.  I  never  heard  from  him  after  that  on  the  subject. 

There  was  one  newspaper  man  who  was  for  a  time  a 
proprietor  of  the  Evening  Post  —  a  tall,  finely  formed 
man  of  about  thirty,  alwaj^s  handsomely  dressed,  his  watch 
chain  shimmering  with  Masonic  jewels  ;  a  man  with  a  dark, 
clear  complexion,  black  mustache,  very  thick,  black  hair, 
with  a  broad-brimmed,  black  slouch  hat  of  a  brigandish 
pattern,  and  who  was  exceedingly  good-looking  and  seemed 
to  be  perfectly  well  aware  of  it. 

This  was  David  Blakely,  who  was  the  Apollo  of  journal- 
istic Chicago.  His  paper  was  burned  in  1871,  since  which 
time  he  has  devoted  himself  to  musical  matters,  having 
attained  great  eminence  as  an  impresario,  and  bringing  to 


iS6  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

this  country  many  of  the  most  prominent  of  the  musical 
attractions  of  the  Old  World,  notably  Strauss,  and  others  of 
world- wide  reputation. 

One  of  the  journalists  of  that  day  who  attracted  much 
public  notice  was  brought  here  by  Charles  A.  Dana.  He 
was  a  man  of  wonderful  genius,  of  unequaled  ability  in 
certain  classes  of  composition,  and  withal  an  inveterate 
drunkard.  He  was  the  famous  George  T.  L,anigan,  whose 
exploits  and  eccentricities  were  sufficient  to  fill  a  book. 
Inebriety  was  his  normal  condition  ;  he  was  rarely  or  never 
sober,  and  was  capable,  when  in  the  profoundest  stupor  of 
drunkenness,  to  be  rallied  by  the  application  of  cold  cloths 
to  a  condition  in  which  for  a  time  and  at  once  he  was 
capable  of  the  finest  work.  The  moment  his  task  was 
completed  he  resorted  to  the  bottle  constantly  until  such 
time  as  his  services  should  be  again  required. 

He  left  Chicago  shortly  after  the  fire  and  became  an 
attache  of  the  New  York  World,  and,  as  such,  continued  his 
customary  methods  until  death  finally  ended  his  career. 

In  1863-4  there  was  a  reporter  whose  nom  de  plume  was 
<(  Beau  Hackett,"  and  whose  real  name  was  J.  Iy.  Bowman. 
He  was  a  tall,  swarthy  man,  erect,, and  with  black  hair  that 
gave  him  somewhat  the  appearance  of  an  Indian.  He 
secured  during  his  stay  here  a  wide  reputation  as  a  humor- 
ist, whose  products,  however  laughable  and  entertaining, 
were  not  always  of  the  most  delicate  character.  For 
instance,  in  one  of  his  pieces,  which  kept  the  public  in  a 
roar  of  merriment,  the  main  incident  related  to  an  event 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  187 

which  occurred  when  he  was  supposed  to  have  disguised 
himself  as  a  woman  and  in  that  guise  gained  entrance  into 
a  meeting  composed  exclusively  of  ladies.  At  a  certain 
period  in  the  imagined  proceedings  he  forgets  for  a  moment 
his  feminine  dress  and  says  :  "  I  reached  down  and  drew 
up  my  dress  to  get  a  chew  of  tobacco,  showed  my  trousers 
to  the  women  and  produced  a  tremendous  uproar. ' ' 

He  was  married  to  a  beautiful  wife,  but  was  very  much 
addicted  to  the  use  of  intoxicating  liquors,  and  had  frequent 
broils  with  his  pretty  helpmeet,  which  often  wound  up  by 
his  taking  a  dose  of  poison  and  being  pumped  out  by  a 
doctor,  this  process  being  followed  by  a  reconciliation.  He 
went  to  St.  lyouis,  where  he  attained  some  further  notor- 
iety, but  broke  himself  down  by  intemperance  and  was  taken 
in  charge  by  the  Sisters  of  Mercy,  in  whose  hospital  he  died. 

He  wrote  a  small  book  called  ' '  Me  and  You, ' '  which  was 
made  up  of  his  miscellaneous  sketches,  and  which  met  with 
a  fair  success. 

There  were  many  other  journalists  of  the  period  who 
were  more  or  less  remarkable  in  some  particulars.  One 
whom  I  recall  was  a  young  man  named  "  Shang  "  Andrews, 
who  was,  for  some  time,  connected  with  Mr.  Storey's  news- 
paper. His  tendency  was  in  the  direction  of  the  nasty,  the 
lecherous,  the  slums  and  their  contents. 

He  finally  drifted  into  the  publication  of  a  sheet  devoted 
to  prostitutes  —  the  kind  of  paper  usually  spoken  of  as 
' '  flash, "  ' '  sporting, ' '  or  something  of  the  sort.  It  was  sold 
by  newsboys  on  the  streets,  and  had  a  large  patronage. 


i88  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

It  was  a  personal  organ  of  the  Cyprian  element.  It  de- 
fended the  proprietresses  of  some  bagnios,  and  attacked 
those  of  others.  It  was  to  the  "levee,"  to  "Cheyenne," 
to  "  Biler  Avenue,"  what  the  society  journals  of  Ivondon 
are  to  Belgravia  and  the  West  End. 

( '  Shang ' '  was  an  overgrown  animal  with  coarse  features, 
dull  eyes,  heavy,  sensual  lips,  and  disproportionate  limbs. 
He  was  lumbering  and  shambling  in  his  gait.  He  spent 
much  of  his  time  in  the  society  of  the  women  whose  cause 
he  championed,  and  of  whose  business  his  paper  was  the 
exponent. 

Personally,  outside  his  profession,  he  was  what  is  termed 
a  ' '  thoroughly  good  fellow."  He  was  amiable  in  his  dis- 
position, genial,  benevolent,  and  a  warm  friend.  There 
were  people  who  despised  his  occupation  while  they  liked 
the  man.  He  was  temperate,  and,  strange  as  it  may  seem 
in  view  of  the  character  of  the  women  with  whom  he  was  in 
constant  contact,  he  was  believed  to  be  chaste  in  his  habits 
and  practices. 

Several  times  his  sheet  was  suppressed  by  the  authorities, 
and  as  often  it  reappeared  on  the  streets.  He  saved  no 
money,  although  his  paper  was  at  times  lucrative  in  its 
returns.  When  he  died,  a  few  years  ago,  he  was  not 
weighted  down  by  age,  but  he  was  a  white-haired  old  man 
in  appearance.  The  charity  of  some  of  his  former  newspa- 
per associates  contributed  to  the  expenses  of  his  interment. 

M.  Iy.  Hopkins,  the  senior  editorial  writer  of  the  Times, 
was  an  out-and-out  believer  in  the  doctrine  of  State's  rights, 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          189 

He  never  alluded  to  the  Tribune  save  as  ' '  the  poor  old 
black  Republican  newspaper  concern  of  this  city." 

There  were  quite  a  number  of  journalists  who  were 
prominent  during  the  period  between  the  time  when  I  came 
to  Chicago  and  the  fire  of  '  7 1 .  Horace  White,  as  editor  of 
the  Tribune,  assisted  by  James  B.  Runnion  as  managing 
editor,  gave  that  journal  a  wide  reputation  for  its  newsy 
enterprise  and  its  literary  excellence. 

Klias  Colbert  was  known  all  through  civilization  for  his 
astronomical  knowledge  and  researches  ;  George  P.  Upton, 
Guy  Magee,  Joseph  Forrest,  J.  M.  Ballantyne,  Henry  M. 
Smith  —  known  later  as  ' '  Jubilee  ' '  Smith  —  were  among 
the  active  workers  of  the  ante-fire  decade. 


PART  SECOND. 
I. 

THE  WORK  OF  RECONSTRUCTION. 

SATURDAY,  October  yth,  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  I 
entered  Mr.  Storey's  room  in  the  Times  building.  This 
was  in  the  year  1871.  I  laid  before  him  on  the  desk  the 
manuscript  of  an  article,  about  a  column  in  length,  wLId; 
had  just  written,  on  the  "  Goodenough  "  system  of  horse- 
shoeing. He  glanced  at  its  head  : 

"We  will  not  use  this  to-morrow,  for  there  is  ?..  .-.•."•.ml  us 
of  Sunday  matter.  Sit  down  ! ' ' 

I  seated  myself,  and  he  began  to  chat.  For  the  past  two 
years,  when  absent  from  the  city,  he  had  left  the  charge 
of  the  editorial  matter  in  my  hands.  This  had  brought  me 
in  closer  contact  with  him.  He  would  often  discuss  the 
policy  of  the  paper,  projected  improvements,  and  other 
similar  matters,  before  me. 

He  was  quite  communicative  on  this  occasion.  I  thought 
he  was  looking  younger,  and  in  other  respects  better  than 
usual. 

He  dwelt  at  some  length  on  the  prosperity  enjoyed  by 
the  Times,  and  spoke  hopefully  of  the  future. 

191 


19*  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

Monday,  the  gth,  I  crossed  Madison  Street  bridge  from 
the  west,  at  about  noon,  and  plunged  into  the  hell  of  flame 
and  smoke  beyond.  After  much  difficulty,  and  with  many 
detours,  and  dodging  tumbling  walls,  I  succeeded  in  reach- 
ing the  locality  in  which  I  supposed  the  Times  building  had 
stood.  I  could  not  find  a  vestige  of  the  structure,  nor  pick 
out  the  lot  on  which  it  had  been  erected. 

The  walls  of  the  Tribune  were  still  standing,  but  the 
interior  had  been  gutted  by  the  flames. 

I  retraced  my  steps  to  the  West  Side,  went  to  Rounds' 
establishment  and  engaged  the  only  press  suitable  to  print  a 
newspaper.  Then  I  started  for  Mr.  Storey's  residence,  on 
Michigan  Avenue,  which  was  south  of  the  line  of  the  flames. 

I  met  George  Atkins,  foreman  of  the  Times  printing  de- 
partment. He  handed  me  a  bundle  of  manuscript 

"I  snatched  this  from  the  'old  man's'  desk,"  he  said, 
"  and  had  to  run.  It  was  the  only  thing  I  brought  away." 

It  was  the  manuscript  of  the  Goodenough  horse-shoeing 
article.  So  far  as  I  know,  it  was  the  only  thing  that  was 
saved  of  the  contents  of  the  Times  building. 

Again  I  crossed  the  Madison  Street  bridge,  and  plunged 
into  the  ruins  for  the  purpose  of  reaching  Mr.  Storey's 
house.  Each  moment  there  was  a  thunderous  roar  and 
crash  as  the  walls  of  some  burned  building  tumbled  to  the 
ground.  The  air  was  so  filled  with  smoke  as  to  blind  one, 
but  still  I  could  discover  blackened  bodies  here  and  there 
to  the  number  of  eighteen. 

When  I  reached  Mr.  Storey's  house  on  Michigan  Avenue, 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  193 

I  saw  three  men  sitting  on  the  piazza.  One  was  Judge 
Ivambert  Tree,  another  A.  L.  Patterson,  business  manager, 
and  an  elderly  man  who  leaned  forward  in  his  chair  in  an 
attitude  of  dejection,  whose  mouth  was  pinched,  and  about 
whose  eyes  there  were  innumerable  wrinkles.  It  took  a 
second  glance  to  recognize  in  this  third  person  Mr.  Storey, 
who  seemed  ten  years  older  than  when  I  had  left  him  Satur- 
day afternoon.  He  greeted  me  with  a  faint  smile  and  shook 
hands  with  a  languid  clasp. 

There  was  a  short  period  of  silence,  all  apparently 
stunned  by  the  stupendous  calamity,  not  knowing  what  to 
say.  Finally  I  said  : 

"  Mr.  Storey,  I  have  engaged  a  press  at  Rounds'  ;  I  have 
seen  Atkins,  and  asked  him  to  get  his  men  together,  and 
have  come  up  here  to  get  the  type  in  the  barn.'' 

There  was  an  old  font  of  the  Times  type  stored  away  in 
the  loft  of  the  barn  in  the  rear  of  his  house. 

" What  for?"  asked  Mr.  Storey,  with  a  kind  of  a  half- 
surprised  air. 

"  Why,  to  resume  the  publication  of  the  Times:' 

He  rose  feebly  to  his  feet,  and  said  : 

"  I  shall  not  resume  the  publication  of  the  Times.  The 
city  is  destroyed.  Everything  is  played  out.  I  am  now  an 
old  man. ' '  (He  was  only  fifty-one.)  ' '  I  have  about  eighty 
thousand  dollars  with  which  I  can  live  comfortably  for  the 
rest  of  my  life.  If  I  put  that  into  a  new  paper,  I  would  be 
a  pauper  in  less  than  a  year." 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Storey,"  said  Mr.  Patterson,  "  that  you  are 


PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 


mistaken  as  to  Chicago  being  played  out.  In  fact,  the  real 
Chicago  has  not  been  touched  by  the  fire.  We  still  have  our 
immense  system  of  railways,  our  sewers,  our  miles  of  water- 
mains,  our  pavements,  our  lake  navigation  :  in  short,  all  that 
constitutes  the  real  Chicago  has  not  been  disturbed.  " 

"  Well,  that  may  be  so,"  said  the  old  gentleman  ;  "  but 
where  is  business  to  come  from  ?  '  ' 

"There  are  ten  thousand  business  men  burned  out  here," 
I  said,  "  all  or  a  majority  of  whom  will  start  again.  As  I 
came  along  I  saw  on  a  board  in  the  ruins  the  words  :  'All 
lost  but  wife,  children  and  pluck.  '  That  is  the  spirit  which 
prevails  everywhere.  You  can  at  least  allow  me  to  take 
the  type  and  make  a  start,  and  a  week  or  two  at  most  will 
show  whether  there  will  be  a  resurrection  or  not,  and  if 
there  be  a  failure,  the  cost  of  so  short  an  experiment  will 
not  be  a  very  large  one." 

He  finally  consented,  and  to  Patterson  was  delegated  the 
duty  of  securing  the  room  for  publication  and  the  moving 
of  the  type. 

Rooms  were  secured,  the  type  'moved  after  tremendous 
difficulties  in  the  way  of  obtaining  transportation,  a 
squad  of  printers  was  drummed  up  from  various  saloons, 
most  of  them  in  a  state  of  intoxication,  and  the  work  of 
type-setting  began.  Notices  were  put  in  the  other  papers 
giving  the  place  where  the  Times  had  resumed  publication. 
Mr.  Storey  did  not  appear  until  three  days  after  I  had  seen 
him  at  his  house,  and  then  he  had  come  apparently  to 
satisfy  himself  that  there  was  no  prospect  of  success.  He 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  195 

found,  upon  meeting  the  business  manager,  that  an  enor- 
mous number  of  advertisements  had  been  taken,  amounting 
to  several  thousand  dollars. 

Every  business  man  in  the  city  who  intended  to  start 
again  had  brought  in  a  notice  of  his  new  place,  and  in  that 
way  there  had  come  a  mountain  of  advertisements.  Storey's 
face  brightened,  and  he  at  once  became  interested.  We  had 
a  short  consultation,  in  which  it  was  agreed  that  the  first 
thing  to  be  done  was  to  secure  larger  and  more  spacious 
quarters. 

I  at  once  started  out  in  search  of  a  site,  and  found  a 
vacant  space  on  Adams  Street  just  west  of  the  bridge,  and 
which  was  owned  by  John  Kline,  an  old  settler  who  is  mar- 
ried to  a  relative  of  mine.  On  account  of  this  relationship, 
I  got  a  lease  of  the  lot  at  a  ridiculously  low  figure.  A 
rough  plan  of  a  building  was  drawn,  and,  employing  a  car- 
penter, I  commenced  operations  in  building. 

I  went  to  a  certain  firm  of  lumbermen  with  a  bill  of  what 
was  needed,  and  they  refused  to  trust  Mr.  Storey  for  the 
amount.  One  of  the  firm,  a  gentleman  whom  I  had  known 
for  a  great  many  years,  said  that,  while  they  would  not 
trust  Mr.  Storey,  they  would  let  me  have  the  lumber  if  I 
would  myself  assume  the  responsibility.  Then  the  shanty, 
"  two  and  a  half  stories  long  and  one  high  "  — as  was  said 
of  it  at  the  time  —  was  constructed,  an  engine  was  pur- 
chased, and  a  Bullock  press  obtained,  and  all  of  the  neces- 
sary material  was  moved  into  the  new  building. 

At  this  point  I  wish  to  relate  another  instance  of  the  inef- 


196  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

fable  meanness  which  characterized  so  many  of  Storey's 
actions.  As  soon  as  the  first  issue  of  the  Times  was  made 
I  suggested  to  Storey  that  I  would  be  willing  to  throw  off 
one-half  my  salary  for  a  period  of  five  weeks,  and  that  I  had 
no  doubt  that  the  majority  of  the  employes,  except  the 
printers,  would  be  willing  to  do  the  same.  A  canvass  was 
made,  and  about  thirty  men  entered  into  the  agreement  on 
the  half  wages,  except  Patterson,  the  business  manager, 
who  insisted  that  for  five  weeks  he  should  work  for  nothing. 
At  the  end  of  the  five  weeks,  Mr.  Patterson  reminded 
Mr.  Storey  that  the  time  had  expired,  and  asked  him  if  it 
were  not  best  to  resume  full  payment.  Mr.  Storey  insisted 
that  the  arrangement  should  extend  through  another  week. 
Now,  the  meanness  of  this  transaction  is  in  the  fact  that 
during  the  five  weeks  that  had  already  expired  the  paper 
had  been  clearing  $4,000  a  week.  Yet,  in  view  of  this 
immense  profit,  Storey  had  the  effrontery  to  ' ( bilk  ' '  his  em- 
ployes out  of  the  additional  amount  of  a  half- week's  salary. 


II. 

BUILDING  OPERATIONS. 

AFTER  the  shanty  had  been  occupied,  the  question  of  a 
permanent  site  and  building  came  up,  and  became  the  sub- 
ject of  discussion.  Mr.  Storey,  for  a  long  time,  insisted 
that  a  plain,  cheap  structure  of  brick  would  answer  every 
purpose,  and  it  was  only  after  much  persuasion  that  he  con- 
sented to  erect  a  first-class  building. 

A  lot  eighty  feet  square  was  purchased  on  the  site  since 
occupied  by  the  Times,  and  the  work  of  construction  began. 

In  my  younger  days,  I  had  been  trained  in  mechanical 
directions,  and  naturally  on  me  fell  the  burden  of  the  work 
to  be  done.  Plans  were  invited,  and  my  selection  from  the 
many  presented  was  adopted. 

The  fire  had  proved  that  many  kinds  of  stone  had  little 
power  to  resist  heat.  Limestone  walls,  and  sidewalks  of 
the  same  kind  of  stone,  had  been  turned  into  lime  under  the 
flames,  ground  into  powder,  and  blown  away  by  the  savage 
gales.  Granite  speedily  cracked  under  the  heat ;  sandstone 
best  withstood  the  fiery  test. 

I  traveled  all  through  the  quarry  regions  of  Canada  and 
the  Northern  States,  and  at  last,  while  in  Michigan,  learned 
that  a  stone  was  in  use  for  fire-grates,  and  was  not  impaired 

197 


198  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

by  heat.  Tracing  the  stone  to  the  quarry,  I  found  the  one 
from  which  the  Times  walls  were  built.  This  quarry  had 
never  been  worked  for  anything  more  important  than  the 
lining  of  fire-places  in  a  limited  area  of  Michigan. 

I  was  given  the  superintendency  of  the  erection  of  the 
new  building.  I  negotiated  all  the  contracts,  and  person- 
ally supervised  all  the  work.  I  do  not  believe  that  a  stone, 
scarcely  a  brick  was  laid,  a  pound  of  mortar  mixed,  or  a 
nail  driven  that  I  did  not  see.  The  wood- work  of  the  build- 
ing was  all  done  by  the  day,  and  to  it  I  gave  as  close  atten- 
tion as  to  the  other  departments. 

Mr.  Storey  subsequently  purchased  and  built  on  one 
hundred  and  three  feet  north  of  and  adjoining  the  eighty 
feet  which  I  had  handled,  and  it  gratifies  me  to  be  able  to 
say  that  at  this  date,  twenty  years  later,  there  is  not  a  single 
crack  in  the  external  walls  of  the  portion  under  my  charge, 
while  the  other,  with  which  I  had  nothing  to  do,  has  shown 
many  gaps  and  wounds  more  or  less  serious  in  their 
dimensions. 

I  discovered  and  applied  some  valuable  improvements. 
Before  the  date  of  the  fire,  the  pits  under  printing-presses 
were  built  of  heavy  plates  of  iron,  which  were  riveted 
together,  and,  having  to  conform  to  several  inequalities  in 
the  outlines  of  the  bottom  of  the  presses,  they  were  costly, 
clumsy,  and  hard  to  transport  from  the  shops  to  the  press- 
rooms. 

I  ignored  this  style  of  construction,  and  substituted  pits 
of  pressed  brick,  laid  in  concrete.  By  the  aid  of  a  siphon, 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  199 

they  are  always  kept  dry,  and  in  their  construction  cost  but 
a  fraction  of  the  amount  paid  for  the  old  iron  lining. 

I  also  introduced  a  novel  and  inexpensive  system  of  ven- 
tilation, in  which  I  availed  myself  of  the  air-ducts  in  the  fire- 
proof partitions  for  the  transmission  of  foul  gases,  and  which, 
while  it  cost  nothing,  and  worked  beautifully,  was  ruined 
by  Mr.  Storey,  who,  at  the  end  of  a  year,  changed  the  forms 
of  the  rooms  on  the  upper  floors,  breaking  the  connection 
of  the  foul-air  ducts. 

Mr.  Storey,  when  he  was  about  the  building,  was  a  per- 
petual nuisance,  especially  after  the  shell  was  completed  and 
the  task  of  laying  out  the  rooms  was  being  performed.  He 
showed  at  this  time  some  initial  evidences  of  mental  weaken- 
ing. He  would  come  down  one  day  and  point  out  what  he 
wished  done,  for  instance,  in  the  height  of  the  walls  and  the 
distances  between  the  gas-stubs,  and  next  day,  finding  the 
work  done,  would  declare  that  it  was  not  all  as  he  had 
directed. 

There  were  many  such  instances  that  showed  an  impair- 
ment of  his  memory.  When  the  time  came  for  final  settle- 
ments with  contractors,  there  was  always  trouble.  Extras 
that  had  arisen  from  his  shifting  of  purpose  in  the  construct- 
ing of  various  things,  and  on  his  orders,  he  invariably  dis- 
puted ;  denied  having  ordered  them,  and  refused  to  pay  for 
them.  Many  lawsuits  resulted,  and  many  years  elapsed 
before  they  were  settled. 

I  remember  one  suit  in  which  he  was  summoned  as  a 
witness,  and  which  he  resented  as  an  insult  to  his  dignity. 


200  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

It  was  an  additional  proof  that  his  mental  condition  was 
changing  for  the  worse. 

The  suit  was  by  the  Cloggston  Boiler  Company,  whose 
boilers  had  been  put  in  and  failed  to  do  the  required  work. 
Storey  declined  to  pay  for  them.  When  on  the  witness- 
stand  his  voice  shook  with  rage  and  nervous  excitement. 

1 '  What  business  is  that  of  yours,  you  damned  puppy  ?  ' ' 
he  replied  to  some  ordinary  question  asked  by  the  attorney 
for  the  plaintiff. 

Several  times  he  made  the  same  kind  of  an  insulting  reply 
to  legitimate  interrogatories,  and  was  three  or  four  times  re- 
buked by  the  judge. 

He  had  a  very  annoying  habit  of  doing  certain  things 
when  I  submitted  plans  to  him.  The  Cloggston  boiler  case 
furnishes  an  instance.  He  looked  over  the  plans,  heard 
the  statements  of  the  contractors,  and  said  : 

' '  Wilkie,  I  will  accept  this  boiler  on  your  recommenda- 
tion." 

Now,  this  was  totally  untrue,  for  I  had  persistently 
advocated  the  ' '  Root  boiler, "  as  I  believe  it  is  termed,  and 
which  is  built  up  of  tubes,  each  of  a  single  horse-power, 
which  can  be  increased  by  the  addition  of  more  tubes,  and 
an  explosion  in  which  can  not  include  more  than  a  single 
tube.  This  was  the  boiler  finally  adopted  on  my  recom- 
mendation, but  Storey  always  insisted  that  he  had  taken 
the  Cloggston  apparatus  at  my  suggestion. 

The  faster  he  made  money  the  more  exacting  and  penuri- 
ous he  became.  At  the  end  of  the  first  ten  weeks  after 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  201 

the  starting  of  the  new  paper,  the  business  had  netted  him  a 
profit  of  $40,000,  and  it  continued  to  make  money  at  the 
same  rate  for  years  immediately  following.  And  yet  he 
haggled  over  every  cent,  fought  contractors  in  the  courts,  and 
delayed  the  trial  of  cases  on  one  and  another  pretense  with  a 
view  of  tiring  out  the  men  suing  him,  and  to  force  them  to 
a  compromise  at  a  low  figure,  and  which,  in  many  instances, 
he  succeeded  in  accomplishing. 


III. 

CUMULATIVE  BLOWS. 

IN  1870  Mr.  Storey  went  to  Springfield  to  attend  a  con- 
vention. Going  to  the  train,  he  stepped  off  a  platform  and 
broke  his  leg.  He  was  taken  home  by  Dr.  Fowler,  who  set 
the  leg,  and  as  soon  as  possible  he  was  brought  back  to 
Chicago.  Further  attention  to  his  leg  was  given  by  Dr.  J. 
Adams  Allen,  and  when  Storey  finally  got  up  on  his  feet 
again,  he  found  that  under  the  manipulation  of  Dr.  Allen  it 
had  been  left  slightly  out  of  line. 

As  Storey  was  very  proud  of  his  figure,  the  condition  of 
his  limb  was  a  frightful  mortification,  and  created  a  feeling 
against  Dr.  Allen,  with  whom  he  had  been  on  intimate 
terms  for  many  years.  This  was  one  blow. 

In  1871  the  occurrence  of  the  fire  was  the  second  blow, 
which,  coming  after  the  incident  just  related,  was  more 
damaging  than  it  otherwise  would  have  been.  The  final 
blow  was  the  illness  and  sudden,  and  entirely  unexpected, 
death  of  his  wife. 

She  died  in  January,  1873  ;  the  Christmas  before,  in 
company  with  her  husband,  she  had  spent  at  South  Bend 
with  his  sister  and  nephew  —  the  latter,  Ed.  Chapin,  and  the 
former,  the  wife  of  a  lawyer  named  Anderson.  She  caught 

202 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  203 

a  violent  cold  which  settled  into  rheumatism,  and  less  than  a 
fortnight  later  she  was  dead. 

The  death  was  not  anticipated.  She  was  apparently 
improving  when  the  rheumatism,  which  was  of  the  migra- 
tory character,  struck  her  heart,  and  her  life  was  extinguished 
as  a  candle  is  blown  out.  She  died  in  the  night,  and  Mr. 
A.  I/.  Patterson,  the  business  manager,  was  the  first  one  at 
the  office  to  learn  of  the  event.  He  immediately  went  up  to 
the  house,  and  he  relates  what  he  saw  as  follows  : 

* '  I  found  Mr.  Storey  sitting  in  front  of  the  grate  before 
a  fire  that  was  giving  out  but  little  heat  and  light.  It  was 
very  cold,  the  sky  was  cloudy,  the  room  was  dark  and 
cheerless,  and  Mr.  Storey  was  entirely  alone.  He  seemed  to 
have  grown  many  years  older.  I  expressed  my  regret  over 
his  loss,  when  he  broke  into  a  passionate  fit  of  sobbing,  the 
only  time  that  I  have  ever  seen  any  exhibition  of  the  kind 
on  the  part  of  a  man  who  had  always  prided  himself 
on  being  impervious  to  blows  or  to  misfortunes  of  any 
description." 

There  was  no  lot  for  burial ;  no  preparations  whatever  had 
been  made  for  the  funeral.  Mr.  Patterson  asked  Mr.  Storey 
if  he  should  take  charge  of  matters,  and  consent  was  given. 
Mrs.  Storey  had  been  attending  the  cathedral  of  Bishop 
Whitehouse,  and  Mr.  Patterson  suggested  that  he  be  secured 
for  the  services.  This  seemed  very  agreeable  to  Mr.  Storey, 
and  was  accordingly  done  The  Bishop  expressed  himself 
as  very  willing  to  officiate. 

Before  leaving  the  house,  as  Mr.  Patterson  was  going  out, 


204  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

he  met  the  female  domestic,  who  asked  him  if  he  would  not 
like  to  look  at  the  body.  She  conducted  him  up-stairs  to 
the  room. 

1 '  The  sight, ' '  says  Mr.  Patterson,  ' '  was  a  frightful  one. 
She  lay  on  her  bed  just  as  she  had  died,  her  only  garment 
being  a  nightgown,  through  which  her  form  was  perfectly 
revealed.  I  could  not  help  noticing  that  she  was  the  pos- 
sessor of  a  magnificent  figure,  whose  outlines  suggested  a 
grand  voluptuousness. ' ' 

The  day  of  the  funeral  was  a  horrible  one.  A  savage 
snow-storm  was  raging,  and  a  fierce  wind  drove  the  snow 
into  the  faces  of  the  people  until  sight  was  almost  impossi- 
ble. Through  this  dreary  storm  the  sad  cortege  moved  to 
the  depot,  and  thence  to  Graceland  by  cars,  and  the  body 
was  deposited  in  the  vault. 

One  can  faintly  imagine  the  desolation  which  afflicted  Mr. 
Storey  when  he  returned  to  his  empty  home.  Although  his 
wife  had  been  a  woman  of  questionable  reputation  when  he 
married  her,  she  became  faithful  and  gave  to  him  devoted 
attention  and  affection.  She  so  endeared  herself  to  him  that 
he  grew  fond  of  her,  and,  as  far  as  his  nature  permitted,  came 
nearer  loving  her  than  any  other  woman. 

She  made  herself  indispensable  to  his  comfort.  She 
studied  his  needs  and  peculiarities,  and  how  to  gratify  them. 
She  coddled  him  as  if  he  had  been  an  infant.  Having  lived 
the  most  of  his  life  by  himself,  the  new  situation  was  espe- 
cially delightful.  It  was  at  this  time,  when  he  was  sur- 
rounded by  all  kinds  of  gentle  attention ;  when,  perhaps, 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          205 

for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  was  entirely  happy,  that  his 
wife  suddenly  sickened  and  died. 

This  blow  nearly  drove  him  insane. 

L,et  me  summarize  the  various  causes,  culminating  in  the 
death  of  his  wife,  which  were  so  many  assaults  on  his 
vitality.  The  first  and  perhaps  most  potent  of  them  all  was 
his  life  in  the  Portland  and  in  Speed's  block,  in  both  of  which 
his  existence  was  a  continuous  debauch,  with  lewd  women 
and  excessive  drinking  as  the  principal  elements. 

For  years,  without  intermission,  he  followed  a  course 
which  was  calculated  to  sap  his  vitality  and  impair  his 
mental  strength.  This,  added  to  the  fire,  the  breaking  of 
his  leg,  the  death  of  his  wife,  constituted  the  combination 
that  began  an  impairment  of  brain  and  body  whose  results 
were  full  of  disaster.  This  aggregation  of  calamities  wrought 
serious  evils  on  his  nature,  and  he  grew  moody  and  morbid 
He  could  not  forget  his  wife  ;  he  missed  her  smiles,  her  sooth- 
ing voice,  her  caressing  hands  every  moment.  He  could  not 
give  her  up. 

It  was  while  he  was  thus  in  mourning  for  the  loss  of  his 
wife  that  he  became  possessed  by  the  belief  that  Dr.  Hosmer 
Johnson,  who  had  attended  Mrs.  Storey  in  her  final  illness,  had 
not  given  her  due  attention  ;  that,  instead  of  calling  at  long 
intervals,  he  should  have  devoted  his  entire  time  to  her 
case.  This  conviction  in  time  developed  into  one  to  the 
effect  that  the  physician  had  given  her  cumulative  doses  of 
aconite  —  that  is  to  say,  that,  instead  of  delaying  one  dose 
until  the  effect  of  the  other  had  passed  away,  they  lapped  on 


206  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

each  other,  and  produced  the  effect  of  a  single  one.  He 
said  to  me  one  day,  in  discussing  the  matter,  that  he  believed 
that  it  was  his  duty  to  murder  Johnson.  Once  possessed  of 
these  ideas,  he  proceeded  to  attack  the  physician  through 
his  paper  with  the  malignant  virulence  which  few  of  the 
citizens  of  that  day  will  fail  to  remember. 

Dr.  Johnson  stood  the  attacks  for  some  months  in  silence, 
and  then  replied  to  them  in  an  article  of  a  column  and  a  half 
in  the  Tribune,  one  of  the  most  terrible  things  of  the  kind 
which  ever  appeared  in  public  print. 

He  gave  his  notes  of  the  case  of  Mrs.  Storey,  the  dates  of 
his  visits,  the  medicine  administered,  its  quantity,  and 
succeeded  in  amply  refuting  Mr.  Storey's  charges  in  every 
particular. 

He  was  not  satisfied  with  a  vindication  of  his  professional 
conduct  of  the  case  ;  he  became  aggressive  ;  from  defending 
he  turned  into  the  assaulting  party,  and  charged  on  his 
enemy  with  terrific  force.  He  asserted  that  the  malady 
which  cost  Mrs.  Storey  her  life  was  the  direct  outcome  of  a 
licentious  life.  This  was  an  awful  blow,  but  was  no  more 
annihilating  than  another  which  crushed  his  antagonist  with 
the  assertion  that  he  was  impotent. 

Fancy  the  effect  of  these  two  withering  assertions  on  the 
nature  of  a  man  with  the  inordinate  pride  of  Storey  !  He 
was  then  but  fifty-four  years  of  age  ;  to  publish  his  impo- 
tence must  have  created  a  shock  which  shattered  one  of  the 
most  sensitive  feelings  in  his  soul  —  that  feeling  which  every 
man,  irrespective  of  age  or  the  real  facts  in  the  case,  enter- 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  207 

tains,  and  that  is  that  his  manhood,  his  virility,  shall  stand 
unchallenged. 

That  Mr.  Storey  was  not  driven  into  an  insane  asylum  by 
the  terrible  riposte  of  Dr.  Johnson  is  something  provocative 
of  astonishment. 

He  believed  that  Horace  White  was  the  author  of  the 
article.  He  showed  me,  a  few  days  after  the  appearance  of 
the  Johnson  paper,  a  reply  which  was  one  of  the  most 
beastly  and  abominable  attacks  on  Horace  White  that  ever 
could  be  conceived.  That  gentleman  had  some  discolora- 
tion of  the  face  in  blotches,  which  Storey  used  as  having 
been  caused  by  contact  with  a  person  whom  to  particularize 
would  be  at  once  a  scandalous  libel  and  a  gross  insult. 

The  public,  as  a  rule,  extended  no  sympathy  to  Mr. 
Storey  in  his  overwhelming  humiliation  and  defeat.  It  was 
said  by  a  prominent  lawyer,  who  was  the  editor's  professional 
adviser : 

' '  For  years  Storey  has  been  on  the  summit  of  a  great 
height  from  which,  with  entire  impunity,  he  has  been  toss- 
ing missiles  on  the  heads  of  the  crowd  below,  careless  whom 
he  wounded,  and  secure,  owing  to  his  elevation,  from  any- 
thing like  reprisal.  At  last,  an  expert  slinger  plants  a 
stone  directly  in  the  middle  of  his  forehead,  and  the  world 
rejoices  as  it  hears  his  shrieks  of  pain.  The  general  verdict 
is,  '  Served  him  right  ! '  " 

I  induced  Mr.  Storey  not  to  print  the  calumnious  article 
concerning  Horace  White.  But  he  redoubled  the  number, 
and,  if  possible,  the  venomousness  of  the  attacks  on  Dr. 


208  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

Johnson,  declaring  in  an  editorial:  "The  world  may  set 
me  down  as  a  dog  if  I  do  not  ruin  the  man  who  killed  my 
wife!" 


IV. 

STOREY'S  SPIRITUALISM . 

SOME  months  after  the  death  of  ' '  Bonnie, ' '  which  was  his 
pet  name  for  his  second  wife,  I  was  spending  the  evening  at 
his  house.  He  alluded  to  her  in  a  caressing  tone,  and, 
after  some  reminiscences  of  pleasant  evenings  we  had  passed 
together  when  she  was  alive,  he  asked  : 

' '  Have  you  ever  given  any  attention  to  spiritualism  ?  If 
you  have,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

' '  Yes  ;  I  have  given  the  '  ism  '  considerable  examination, 
but  I  have  never  been  able  to  reach  anything  like  a  positive 
conclusion.  On  the  whole,  I  am  rather  disposed  to  doubt 
its  genuineness.  For  three  years  I  had  a  standing  offer  of 
$100  to  be  given  to  any  spiritualist  in  Chicago  who  could 
produce  a  '  manifestation '  which  I  could  not  reproduce  by 
natural  means.  Several  attempts  were  made  to  secure  the 
prize,  but  all  were  failures. ' ' 

"I  don't  take  any  stock  in  it,"  he  said,  "but  I  would 
like  to  test  it.  I  have  heard  of  a  '  medium,'  as  it  is  called, 
that  is  said  to  have  some  mysterious  power,  and  I'd  like  to 
look  into  the  matter.  Suppose  we  go  this  evening  ?  I  know 
where  a  circle  is  to  be  held  over  on  the  West  Side. ' ' 

I  was  considerably  amazed  that  he  should  have  so  much 

209 


PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 


information  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  a  medium,  but  learned 
later  .in  the  evening  that  he  had  before  visited  the  place 
where  we  went  that  night. 

I  consented  to  go,  of  course  ;  he  ordered  his  carriage,  and, 
accompanied  by  Dr.  Fowler,  of  Springfield,  we  drove  to  a 
house  whose  locality  I  do  not  remember. 

A  '  '  circle  '  '  was  in  operation  when  we  entered.  There 
were  two  '  '  mediums  '  '  or  media  —  whichever  it  should  be  — 
a  man  and  his  wife. 

The  circle  broke  up,  and  was  re-formed  by  the  addition  of 
the  newcomers.  Mr.  Storey  wore  an  air  of  solemn  anticipa- 
tion. The  light  was  turned  down  ;  there  was  some  sing- 
ing, and  then  a  guitar,  which  had  been  lying  on  the  table, 
rose  in  the  air  and  floated  over  our  heads,  its  strings  being 
twanged  with  vigor. 

There  were  palpable  raps  all  over  the  room  :  a  tattoo 
which  was  heard  from  the  walls,  the  ceilings,  on  and  under 
the  table.  '  '  Spirit  fingers  '  '  touched  the  hair  and  caressed 
the  lips  of  the  sitters.  Many  messages  were  received,  one 
of  which  was  the  following  : 

'  '  I  see,  '  '  said  the  female  medium,  '  '  a  spirit  hovering 
over  the  head  of  one  of  this  party.  He  has  a  noble  head 
and  face,  and  has  white  hair  and  beard.  '  ' 

I  sat  next  to  Mr.  Storey  and  could  feel  that  he  was  agi- 
tated. His  hand  shook,  but  he  said  nothing. 

"  The  spirit,"  continued  the  medium,  "  is  a  woman  with 
brown  hair,  red  lips,  a  stout  figure.  She  is  about  forty 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  211 

years  of  age,  and  smiles  on  the  man  with  the  white  hair 
and  fondles  his  beard. ' ' 

It  was  the  old,  old  "  racket,"  the  twanging  of  the  guitar, 
the  rappings  and  tappings,  the  spirit  fingers,  all  of  which 
I  had  often  seen,  and  which  I  knew  to  be  gross  deceptions. 
I  was  trying  to  smother  an  expression  of  contempt,  when 
there  suddenly  appeared,  directly  over  our  heads,  on  the 
ceiling,  a  space  illumined  by  a  pale  blue  light.  Everybody 
glanced  up,  and  saw,  written  across  the  lighted  space : 
"  Wilbur  F.  Storey." 

The  trick  was  so  stale  that  unconsciously  I  uttered,  in  a 
tone  heard  all  over  the  room  : 

"Oh,  hell!" 

The  light  was  at  once  turned  up,  and  Storey,  glancing  at 
me  sternly,  said,  in  an  indignant  tone : 

' '  You  must  have  drunk  too  much  of  that  claret  at 
dinner  ! ' ' 

He  never  again  invited  me  to  join  him  in  visiting  spirit- 
ual seances.  In  fact,  for  several  months  he  did  not  ask  me 
to  dinner,  as  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  at  least 
twice  a  week  since  the  death  of  '  *  Bonnie. ' ' 

I  learned  that,  during  this  period  of  my  absence,  the 
man  and  woman  who  acted  as  mediums  at  the  spiritual 
meeting  referred  to  were  installed  as  guests  in  the  Storey 
residence. 

About  six  months  after  the  death  of  his  wife,  while  the 
attacks  on  Dr.  Johnson  were  being  continued,  he  said  to 
me  : 


212  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

"We  must  let  up  on  Dr.  Johnson." 

I  was  about  to  say  I  was  delighted  to  hear  it,  but  changed 
my  mind  and  asked  if  I  might  be  permitted  to  know  the 
reason. 

"  I  have  just  received  a  communication  from  '  Bonnie  '  in 
which  she  asks  me  to  stop  the  attacks  on  the  doctor. ' ' 

* '  Indeed  !     How  did  you  get  the  communication  ?  ' ' 

"Through  an  old  Chicago  man  named  Sampson,  now 
living  at  Denver.  He  received  a  message  from  '  Bonnie, ' 
through  a  medium,  with  a  request  to  forward  it  to  me." 

Those  people  who  may  recall  the  sudden  and  surprising 
cessation  of  the  attacks  of  the  Times  on  Dr.  Johnson,  may 
now,  for  the  first  time,  learn  the  reason. 

At  this  period  Mr.  Storey  gave  up  spiritualism,  and 
resumed  it  some  years  later,  and  which  phase  will  be 
alluded  to  in  a  subsequent  chapter.  One  day,  about  six 
months  after  the  death  of  ' '  Bonnie, ' '  I  noticed  that  he 
seemed  very  disconsolate.  I  mentioned  the  fact  to  him  and 
asked  him  if  he  was  not  feeling  well.  To  this  he  replied  : 

' '  I  am  feeling  lonely.  The  fact  is  I  must  have  a  woman 
about  me.  I  cannot  get  along  without  one. ' ' 

This  reply  brought  to  my  mind  an  event  that  had  taken 
place  in  Mr.  Storey's  life  several  years  before.  There  was 
a  young  lady  in  Kentucky,  the  daughter  of  a  family  of 
bluest  blood,  who  was  very  beautiful,  accomplished,  and 
possessed  fine  literary  attainments.  Mr.  Storey  made  her 
acquaintance  through  some  letters  which  she  wrote  to  the 
Times,  and  which  were  so  exceptionally  fine  that  his 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  213 

attention  was  attracted  to  the  writer.  He  opened  a  per- 
sonal correspondence  with  her,  and  in  a  brief  time  became 
very  much  enamored  with  the  writer.  He  went  to  Ken- 
tucky to  see  her,  and  was  infatuated  with  her  beauty,  her 
charms  of  mind  and  person.  I  think  that  the  result  of  the 
visit  was  a  qualified  engagement  of  marriage.  It  was 
followed  by  a  correspondence  of  some  length,  which  was 
suddenly  broken  off,  and  a  couple  of  months  later  infor- 
mation came  that  the  lady  had  been  married. 

This  affection  of  Mr.  Storey  was  probably  the  only  pure 
one  that,  up  to  that  period,  he  had  entertained  for  any 
woman  save  his  first  wife.  His  remark  in  regard  to  the 
necessity  of  having  a  woman  around  suggested  his  con- 
nection with  this  Kentucky  girl,  and  I  said  : 

"Do    you  suppose   that ,"    naming    the 

young  lady  in  Kentucky,  "  is  living  happily  with  her 
husband?" 

He  seemed  surprised  at  the  question,  and  said  : 
"  I  don't  know.     Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 
"  Well,  I  ask  because  I  heard  that  she  does  not  live  on 
good  terms  with  her  husband.     He  is  much  older  than  she; 
he   is   coarse,  unrefined,  a  sporting   man,  and  there  is  an 
entire  lack  of  concord  between  them.     You  say  that  you 
must  have  a  woman  about  you.     Suppose  that  I  go  down 
to  Kentucky  and  look  over  the  situation.     It  may  be  that 
-  may  be  anxious  for  a  separation.     If  so  a 
divorce  might  follow,  and  then  you  could  have  '  a  woman 
about  you '   who  would  make  you  a  most  admirable  and 
congenial  wife." 


214  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

A  glow  of  pleasure  flashed  over  his  face  when  he  heard 
this  remark,  and  then,  after  a  few  moments'  thought,  he 
said  : 

' '  I  have  already  been  concerned  in  two  divorces  —  one 
from  my  first  wife  and  another  for  my  second  wife  —  and  I 
don't  hardly  care  to  mix  myself  up  in  any  more  transac- 
tions of  the  sort." 

A  curious,  ludicrous  and  scandalous  phase  was  devel- 
oped immediately  after  Mrs.  Storey's  death.  There  was  a 
great  rush  of  elderly  virgins,  simpering  widows,  young 
girls,  semi-courtesans  and  all  sorts  and  classes  of  women 
who  were  determined  to  marry  Mr.  Storey.  Even  the 
charming  Tennie  C.  Claflin  —  now  wedded  to  a  wealthy 
and  blooded  Englishman  —  had  aspirations  for  the  place 
that  had  just  been  vacated  by  the  death  of  Mrs.  Hattie 
Dodge  Storey. 

Being  considered  rather  more  in  the  confidence  of  the 
bereaved  widower  than  anybody  else,  I  was  an  especial 
subject  of  attack  by  many  women  who  were  in  search  of 
the  relict  of  the  widow  Dodge.  I  was  inundated  with  let- 
ters and  personal  calls,  all  imploring  my  influence  in  aiding 
them  to  marry  the  sorrowing  widower.  There  was  one 
young  and  very  handsome,  refined  girl  who  had  set  her  heart 
on  marrying  the  old  man,  who  was  then  more  than  sixty 
years  of  age,  and  she  wrote  me  and  called  on  me  several 
times.  She  seemed  infatuated  with  his  wealth  and  con- 
spicuous position,  and  would  have  married  him  at  any  risk. 

It  would  be  infinitely  amusing,  and  not  at  all  creditable 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  215 

to  the  applicants,  were  I  to  relate  some  of  the  many  con- 
versations that  occurred.  Most  of  them,  especially  the 
elderly  ones,  did  not  hesitate  to  state  that  they  would  only 
marry  Storey  because  he  was  rich.  One  of  the  ladies  who 
honored  me  by  asking  my  assistance  was  a  divorcee  well 
known  in  Chicago.  She  was  a  woman  of  about  forty-five, 
quite  obese,  with  coal-black  hair  and  eyes,  a  perceptible 
mustache  and  side- whiskers  —  a  noted  termagant,  whose 
furious  temper  had  made  her  home  a  hell  for  her  husband 
till  he  secured  relief  in  the  divorce  court. 

She  opened  the  conversation  without  any  preliminary 
skirmishing. 

"  I  want  you  to  help  me  to  marry  old  Storey." 

' '  Me  ?  I  have  no  influence  with  Mr.  Storey  in  matri- 
monial matters.  If  you  wish  to  marry  him,  walk  right  into 
his  room,  and  tell  him  what  you  want.  He  is  of  age,  and 
you  can  talk  to  him  just  as  you  might  to  your  grand- 
father." 

She  continued  to  insist  on  my  aid. 

"  It  is  impossible  1  I  could  not  consent  to  put  you  into 
the  power  of  a  tyrant  who  would  eat  you  up  inside  of  a 
week.  He  is  a  man  with  an  awful,  a  tremendous  temper. 
He  hates  women. ' ' 

"  I  don't  care  for  all  that !  I  can  manage  a  dozen  like 
him." 

"  How,  may  I  ask?  " 

"I'd  break  his  old  head  with  a  rolling-pin,  that's  what 
I'd  do." 


2i6  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

There  were  regular  agencies  established  to  marry  him. 
There  were  two  or  three  families  where  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  dropping  in  of  an  evening  to  play  cards.  At  each  of 
these  would  be  a  widow  or  two,  or  an  aspiring  old  maid, 
who  had  come  at  the  invitation  of  his  entertainers.  A 
prominent  lawyer  undertook  to  push  the  efforts  of  some  of 
the  claimants.  Letters  were  received  by  myself  and  others 
from  different  cities  as  to  the  prospects  of  securing  him  for 
a  husband. 

There  was  a  partial  engagement  between  him  and  the 
tall,  stylish  widow  of  a  prominent  citizen,  and  a  marriage 
would  have  undoubtedly  resulted  had  it  not  been  that  some 
mischief-maker  hinted  to  Storey  that  there  was  a  scandal 
connected  with  the  lady,  whereupon  the  engagement  was 
broken.  There  is  no  reason  to  believe  that  there  was  any 
truth  in  the  story  as  to  the  taint  on  her  record,  but  the 
scandal  was  probably  conceived  in  the  interest  of  some 
rival. 

There  were  months  during  all  that  period  when  I  scarcely 
ever  entered  his  room  without  finding  some  woman  with 
him  who  was  bent  on  a  matrimonial  venture.  One  or  two 
whom  I  thus  saw  were  holding  the  hand  of  the  white-haired 
sexagenarian,  and  trying  to  fascinate  him  with  their  fond 
glances.  The  old  man  seemed  to  enjoy  this  siege.  He 
was  not  in  the  least  moved  by  it,  further  than  it  excited  his 
dull  sense  of  the  ridiculous.  He  invented  all  sorts  of  names 
for  the  women  who  surrounded  him.  One  was  <(  Old  Jim's 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  217 

Leavings  ; ' '  another  was  the  * '  Calcimined  Widow, ' '  and 
there  were  equally  characteristic  names  for  still  others. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  his  love  for  the  Kentucky  girl  was 
the  most  profound  and  sincere  that  he  ever  entertained  for 
a  woman.  He  married  a  third  time,  in  1873,  the  next 
year  after  the  death  of  "  Bonnie,"  on  account,  as  he  stated, 
that  he  must  have  a  woman  about  him,  and  for  the  further 
purpose  of  ridding  himself  of  the  tremendous  pressure  that 
was  being  brought  against  him. 


V. 

VISIT  TO  A  PARIS  NEWSPAPER. 

IN  my  visit  to  Paris,  in  1874,  I  made  a  brief  inspection 
of  some  of  the  principal  French  newspaper  offices. 

The  French  journals  are  entirely  unlike  those  of  any 
other  country  in  all  material  particulars  —  in  appearance, 
kind  of  paper,  make-up,  quality  and  selection  of  matter. 
There  is  no  editorial  page,  no  department  devoted  to 
telegraphic  news,  and  no  space  given  to  matter  scissored 
from  exchanges.  One- third  of  the  paper  —  the  lower 
portion  —  is  cut  off  by  horizontal  lines  from  the  upper 
portion,  and  is  known  as  the  "  feuilleton,"  which  is  devoted 
to  light  literature,  being  generally  a  continuous  story  run- 
ning through  several  numbers. 

The  leading  or  principal  article  appears  in  the  first 
column  of  the  first  page,  and  is  signed  by  the  writer,  who 
usually  appends  his  real  name.  Among  the  French  news- 
papers Le  Figaro  is  probably  the  best  known  in  Paris  and 
in  other  countries.  A  brief  account  of  the  visit  to  the  office 
of  this  journal  may  be  of  interest. 

One  proceeds  a  short  distance  along  the  narrow  and 
crowded  Rue  Drovot,  in  Paris,  and  suddenly  finds  oneself 
in  front  of  a  building  so  unique  and  fanciful  in  its  appear- 

218 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          219 

ance  that  it  forces  the  visitor,  if  a  stranger,  to  pause  for  an 
extended  survey.  It  is  gorgeous  in  colored  glass,  parti- 
colored stones,  niches,  statues,  gargoyles,  balconies,  bas- 
reliefs,  allegorical  groupings  and  ornate  pilasters.  It  is 
dwarfed  somewhat  by  the  high  buildings  on  both  sides  of 
it,  but  asserts  itself  and  attracts  attention  after  the  fashion 
of  a  diminutive  but  exquisitely  dressed  and  beautiful 
woman  sandwiched  between  a  couple  of  substantial,  stout, 
plain  dowagers. 

This  gorgeous  creation,  blazing  with  the  splendors  of  a 
richly  decorated  branch  of  the  Spanish  renaissance  style,  is 
the  fapade  of  the  Hotel  Figaro  —  as  it  is  termed  —  the 
office  of  publication  of  the  newspaper  selected  as  the 
representative  of  French  journalistic  enterprise  and  civil- 
ization. Its  guardian  genius  is  the  statue  of  the  Spanish 
Figaro,  which  occupies  a  roomy  niche  just  over  the  grand 
entrance.  Above  the  left  shoulder  is  seen  the  key-end  of  a 
guitar.  The  hands  are  engaged  in  sharpening  a  quill  pen. 
On  a  black  marble  pedestal  on  which  the  statue  stands  are 
golden  letters  carrying  this  legend  : 

"  Je  taille  encore  ma  plume,  et  demande  a  chacun  de  quoi  il 
est  question." 

Freely  interpreted,  this  means  that  Figaro  is  once  more  on 
deck  and  ready  for  business.  The  original  Figaro  office 
had  been  burned,  and  he  once  more  sharpened  his  pen  for 
work. 

One  naturally  expects  a  corresponding  interior  after 
viewing  so  resplendent  an  exterior,  and  is  not  disappointed. 


220  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

Ascending  some  wide,  broad  steps  of  marble,  the  visitor 
finds  himself  in  a  grand  vestibule,  from  which  rise,  on  the 
right  and  left,  two  spacious  staircases  most  elegantly 
decorated  with  bronzes.  About  the  capacious  vestibule  are 
statuettes  of  the  guardian  genius,  Figaro,  each  of  which  is 
the  work  of  a  master,  and  each  of  which  represents  the 
figure  in  the  act  of  composition.  One  of  them  is  a  Figaro 
on  a  full  run,  who  writes  as  he  speeds  along  —  an  attitude 
which  proves  that  the  French  have  the  correct  idea  as  to 
enterprise,  however  much  they  may  lack  in  putting  it  into 
execution.  Another  vestibule,  with  more  statuettes,  more 
carved  panels,  more  stained  glass,  leads  to  the  central  room 
of  the  structure.  It  is  grand  in  dimensions,  and  beautiful 
in  proportions,  extending  to  the  roof  of  colored  glass.  It  is 
an  atrium  of  Roman  style,  which  opens  into  every  room  of 
the  building.  Below  is  the  business  office,  and  above,  a  gal- 
lery running  all  around  the  interior. 

This  rotunda  glows  with  rich,  warm  coloring,  and  is  as 
ornate  and  resplendent  as  art,  taste  and  wealth  can  make  it. 
Graceful  columns  spring  up,  supporting  semi-circular  arches, 
each  of  which  is  ornamented  with  exquisite  carving  of  char- 
acteristic reliefs.  The  counter  in  the  counting-room  is  a 
marvel  of  beauty  and  richness.  The  floor  is  a  fine  mosaic  ; 
a  stately  bust  of  Beaumarchais  occupies  a  conspicuous 
position  ;  and  from  above  unique  and  marvelously  con- 
structed candelabra  ornament  the  room,  and  at  night  inun- 
date, with  a  flood  of  mellow  light,  every  part  of  the  impos- 
ing rotunda. 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          221 

The  moment  the  visitor  passes  the  second  vestibule,  he  is 
met  by  an  obsequious  attendant  in  livery,  who  wishes  to 
know  what  can  be  done  for  monsieur.  If  monsieur  be  an 
advertiser,  he  is  bowed  to  the  proper  clerk  ;  if  a  subscriber, 
he  is  guided  to  the  right  place  ;  if  he  bring  some  intelligence 
of  real  or  fancied  importance,  he  is  politely  shown  into  the 
room  of  an  editor,  which  is  immediately  adjoining  the  main 
entrance. 

There  are  a  few  American  offices  in  which  a  person  of 
this  kind  would  be  passed  from  hand  to  hand  with  supreme 
insolence,  and  would  be  fortunate  if  he  escaped  being  kicked 
down  stairs. 

At  the  Figaro,  such  a  person  is  welcomed.  There  is  an 
editor  whose  metier  is  to  attend  to  this  class.  He  occupies 
an  elegant  apartment ;  he  is  courteous  and  listens  patiently 
to  what  each  has  to  say  ;  he  invites  them  to  be  seated,  and 
is  not  sparing  in  thanks,  even  to  the  one  whose  communica- 
tion is  worthless.  He  knows  his  business  thoroughly  ;  he 
readily  separates  the  wheat  from  the  chaff  of  intelligence  ; 
his  suavity  pleases  the  caller. 

The  prompt  admission  to  an  editorial  room  flatters  the 
vanity  of  the  people,  and,  as  a  result,  considerable  informa- 
tion of  value,  bon  mots,  and  the  like,  are  collected  in  the 
course  of  the  twenty-four  hours.  What  is  better  is  that 
people  who  have  a  real  grievance  are  never  snubbed  by  in- 
solent subordinates,  so  that  the  very  best  feeling  is  every- 
where entertained  for  the  journal. 

Opening  from  the  gallery  that  encompasses  the  Spanish 


222  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

patio,  or  rotunda,  are  halls  that  lead  to  the  rooms  of  the 
various  employes.  These  are  all  magnificently  furnished 
with  rosewood  furniture,  rich  tapestry,  bronzes  and  marble 
statues.  Some  rooms  contain  a  single  writer,  others  two  or 
three.  The  principal  editor,  Villemessant  —  since  de- 
ceased —  then  occupied  a  small  room  on  the  ground  floor  to 
the  right  of  the  main  entrance.  There  is  also  a  superbly 
furnished  council-room  in  which  all  the  literary  force  meet 
once  a  month.  There  are  bed-rooms,  bath-rooms  and 
breakfast  and  dining  apartments  ;  for  a  majority  of  the 
literary  attaches,  except  the  editor-in-chief,  eat,  live  and 
sleep  in  the  building. 

There  is  also  a  very  large  room  whose  walls  are  covered 
with  glittering  foils.  Each  day  at  two  o'clock  all  the 
employes  assemble  in  this  hall  and  receive  lessons  from  an 
expert  in  fencing.  This  practice  is  obligatory,  for  the 
reason  that  each  member  of  the  staff  is  required  to  hold 
himself  ready  to  call  some  one,  or  be  called,  at  a  moment's 
notice,  to  the  field  of  honor.  Any  hesitation  in  such  a  case 
is  met  with  instant  dismissal. 

' '  You  have  none  of  these  in  your  country  ?  ' '  queried  my 
conductor,  as  he  pointed  to  the  implements  of  offense  and 
defense  on  the  walls. 

"No!" 

4 '  What  do  you  employ  in  America  ?  ' ' 

I  thought  of  all  the  weapons  in  use  in  American  editorial 
departments,  from  horsewhips  to  fists,  canes,  bludgeons, 
boots,  and  thumb-nails,  and  found  my  French  unequal  to  a 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  .        223 

lucid  explanation.  As  a  compromise  which  meant  every- 
thing and  nothing,  I  looked  ferociously  mysterious  and 
made  no  reply. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "  I  understand  !  You  do  these  things 
here!' '  As  he  spoke  he  brought  his  hand  around  on  his  hip 
and  slapped  that  portion  of  his  body  where  a  Yankee  wears 
his  pistol  pocket.  I  did  not  undeceive  him. 

On  its  literary  staff  at  the  time  of  my  visit  Le  Figaro  had 
one  editor-in-chief,  fourteen  assistant  editors,  ten  reporters, 
and  seventy  men  who  included  compositors,  feeders  and 
stereotypers.  All  this  force  was  engaged  in  getting  out  a 
newspaper  about  one-half  the  size  of  the  New  York  Herald, 
and  which  contains  not  more  than  one-quarter  as  much 
matter. 

Each  editor  and  reporter  is  furnished  with  a  carnet — an 
ingenious  protection  against  imposition  which  ought  to  be 
introduced  into  Chicago.  It  consists  of  a  small  folio  of 
morocco,  bound  with  silver  and  shaped  like  a  cigar  case.  It 
contains  a  photograph  of  the  employe  in  one  compartment, 
and  in  the  other  a  written  authentication  of  his  position  by 
his  superior.  The  ordinary  star  can  easily  be  imitated  ;  the 
photograph  of  the  owner  prevents  anything  like  deception. 

H.  de  Villemessant,  the  redacteur,  or  editor-in-chief,  was, 
next  to  Cassagnac,  the  most  noted  journalist  in  France. 
His  position  as  second  to  the  other  was  due  to  the  fame  of 
the  latter  as  a  duelist.  As  a  successful  administrative 
journalist,  Villemessant  was  the  superior  of  all  his  French 
contemporaries.  So  highly  is  he  regarded  that  every  issue 


224  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

of  Le  Figaro  bears  the  statement  in  a  conspicuous  place  at 
its  head  :  "  H.  de  Villemessant,/07zafofe&r." 

He  received  me  very  graciously.  He  was  then  about 
fifty-five  years  of  age,  stout,  with  a  gray  beard  and  hair 
which  bristled  in  every  direction  like  the  extended  quills  of 
an  enraged  porcupine.  He  had  large,  kindly  eyes,  and  a 
face  suggestive  of  determination,  great  intellectuality, 
geniality,  and  good  living.  His  residence  was  just  outside 
Paris,  and  of  a  palatial  character.  He  was  known  as  a 
generous  and  accomplished  host  and  largely  entertained  his 
friends. 

When  I  related  to  him  the  enormous  outlay  of  many 
American  newspapers  for  news,  he  said  : 

' '  That  seems  to  me  absurd  !  What !  Thousands  of 
dollars  for  a  single  dispatch  !  " 

"Yes,  often.  The  first-class  American  newspaper  must 
have  all  the  important  occurrences  in  the  entire  world  of  the 
day  before,  in  each  morning's  issue,  regardless  of  expense." 

' '  That  is  very  droll  !  I  have  no  use  for  any  such  expense 
in  Paris.  Here,  with  over  half  a  hundred  competing  rivals, 
I  can  often  increase  the  circulation  of  Le  Figaro  up  to  200,- 
ooo  copies  without  the  expenditure  of  more  than  a  hundred 
francs." 

This  was  proved  by  the  Figaro  at  the  time  when  Bazaine 
made  his  escape.  The  paper  published  an  exclusive  account 
which  ran  the  circulation  from  80,000  to  200,000.  The 
entire  article  was  less  than  half  a  column.  An  American 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  225 

newspaper  would  have  published  an  entire  page  of  a  similar 
occurrence. 

Some  further  chat  took  place,  and  then  the  great  redacteur, 
after  presenting  me  with  his  autograph,  gave  me  a  cordial 
grasp  of  the  hand,  and,  with  many  expressions  of  good  will, 
bowed  me  out. 

The  attaches  of  Le  Figaro  are  a  family.  As  said,  they 
live,  eat  and  sleep  in  the  same  building.  They  are  attached 
to  the  office,  and  in  constant  waiting  are  carriages  to  be  used, 
in  case  of  a  necessity,  for  a  hurried  trip  to  a  remote  part  of 
the  city. 

Among  these  employes  there  exists  a  strong  and  cordial 
esprit  du  corps ,  which  secures  excellent  results  by  the  creation 
of  a  unit}^  of  purpose  when  some  great  end  is  to  be  achieved. 
I  saw  nowhere  in  this  office,  nor  among  other  French 
journalists,  of  whom  I  met  many,  any  vestiges  of  that  con- 
temptible jealousy  so  common  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic, 
in  which  one  believes  that,  by  pulling  another  down,  one 
builds  one's  self  up. 

It  may  interest  readers  to  know  the  compensation  received 
by  French  journalists.  For  the  year  ending  at  the  date  that 
I  saw  Villemessant  his  share  of  the  earnings  of  his  journal 
was  400,000  francs,  or  about  $80,000.  The  person  in  charge 
of  the  city  department  is  paid  50,000  francs ;  the  chief 
reporter,  40,000  ;  the  manager,  30,000.  The  critic  is  given 
an  annual  stipend  of  12,000,  while  other  reporters  are  paid 
by  the  piece.  If  a  writer  secures  the  "leader"  he  is  paid 
250  francs  for  it,  regardless  of  its  length.  Other  writers  are 


226  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

paid  from  four  to  twenty  cents  a  line.  It  is  thus  seen  that 
French  writers  are  paid  from  three  to  five  times  as  much  as 
writers  in  this  country  ;  at  least  this  was  the  fact  when  I 
visited  Le  Figaro^  whatever  it  may  be  at  the  present  date. 

People  outside  of  Paris  have  no  comprehension  of  the 
nature  of  a  journalistic  sensation  in  that  city.  A  bon  mot, 
in  a  three-line  paragraph,  will  create  more  excitement  and 
sell  more  papers  than  would  a  Cronin  murder  case,  includ- 
ing the  finding  of  the  body  and  the  detection  and  punish- 
ment of  the  criminals. 

There  was  a  series  of  financial  incidents  connected  with 
my  visit  to  Paris,  one  of  which  has  been  alluded  to,  and 
which,  with  some  others,  deserves  a  brief  mention. 

I  went  over  with  the  two  base  ball  nines  —  the  Bostons 
and  Philadelphias  —  not  to  report  their  trip,  but  for  the 
reason  that  I  could  purchase  a  passage  over  and  back  for 
about  two- thirds  the  regular  rates. 

I  wrote  an  account  of  their  first  game  at  Lord's  Cricket 
Grounds  in  Condon,  and  then  left  the  nines  and  ran  over  to 
Paris,  where  I  had  some  acquaintances.  I  had  only  about 
$300  when  I  started,  intending  when  I  ran  short  to  draw  on 
Storey,  who  owed  me,  on  account  of  my  extra  private 
salary,  $1,000. 

When  I  reached  the  French  capital  and  had  been  there  a 
week,  my  funds  ran  low,  and  I  telegraphed  Storey  for  a 
thousand  francs.  He  did  not  answer  ;  that  he  received  it 
admits  of  no  doubt,  for  Judge  Lambert  Tree  was  in  the 
office  when  my  cablegram  came,  and  it  was  read  to  him. 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  227 

I  learned  afterwards  that  lie  was  offended  over  a  portion 
of  my  lyondon  letter  in  which  I  made  some  allusion  to  the 
substantial  dimensions  of  the  feet  of  English  women.  Some 
English  ass,  stabled  here  in  Chicago,  went  to  Storey  and 
brayed  a  complaint  to  the  effect  that  I  had  insulted  English 
women.  Storey,  who  always  believed  the  last  one  of 
several  contradictory  statements,  took  umbrage  at  this 
'  *  insult ' '  and  undertook  to  punish  me  by  paying  no  atten- 
tion to  my  request  for  money. 

I  waited  a  week,  and  then  drew  for  a  thousand  francs  on 
Dan  O'Hara,  one  of  my  warm  friends  and  admirers,  who 
promptly  honored  the  draft. 

I  was  training  with  a  pretty  expensive  set,  and  just  before 
the  time  came  to  leave  my  funds  were  again  at  a  low  ebb. 
Seeing  that  I  was  rather  glum,  Mrs.  Clara  Spencer,  a 
wealthy  artist  from  St.  I^ouis,  who  was  in  Paris  studying 
music,  and  at  whose  house  I  was  spending  the  evening, 
asked  what  was  troubling  me.  I  told  her  I  had  to  leave  for 
home,  that  I  had  heard  nothing  from  a  draft  which  I 
had  drawn  on  Chicago,  and,  as  a  consequence,  felt  a  good 
deal  embarrassed. 

To  my  intense  surprise,  she  opened  her  portemonnaie, 
and  handed  me  five  one-hundred-franc  notes,  and  insisted, 
against  my  protestations,  that  I  should  take  them.  I 
finally  consented  and  took  the  money. 

On  the  route  from  Paris  to  London  was  Charles  Weldon, 
an  artist  from  New  York,  and  with  whom  I  had  associated 


228  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

a  good  deal  in  Paris.  As  we  separated  at  Charing  Cross 
station,  he  said  : 

' '  I  shall  stop  here  a  few  weeks  to  make  some  studies  in 
the  British  Museum.  I  have  more  money  than  I  need. 
Have  you  all  you  require  to  get  home  in  good  shape  ?  ' ' 

' '  I  have  some  —  enough  to  carry  me  through  if  I  am 
very  economical.'* 

"Oh,  hang  economy  ! "  he  broke  in  with.  "  Here  are 
ten  sovereigns  ;  take  them  ;  they'll  help  you  out." 

I  took  them. 

On  the  steamer  Pennsylvania,  when  I  was  returning, 
there  were  three  semi- toughs  from  Brooklyn,  hard  drinkers 
and  jolly  fellows.  One  of  them  approached  me  and  said  : 

"See  here,  old  man,  when  most  Yankees  come  home 
from  the  old  country,  they  are  short  of  greenbacks.  I  have  a 
bundle  left  over,  and  you'd  best  take  some.  Here,  take 
this  !  "  And  he  put  two  tens  and  a  five,  greenbacks,  in  my 
hand. 

I  kept  them. 

When  we  landed,  the  first  man  I  met  whom  I  knew  was 
James  Stewart,  Recorder  of  Cook  County,  who  had  come  to 
meet  John  Healy,  the  principal  man  in  the  office  next  to 
himself. 

"  Of  course,  you  fellows  are  short  after  your  trip  ;  here's 
two  tens  to  take  you  to  Chicago  in  good  style. ' ' 

I  took  that  twenty  just  the  same  as  I  had  taken  the 
twenty -five,  the  fifty  and  the  one  hundred. 


VI. 

A  CASE  OF  TREACHERY.  —  I^IBEI,  SUITS. 


MR.  STOREY  had  no  use  for  friends.  The  allusion  to 
"Dan"  O'Hara  in  the  last  chapter  recalls  an  incident 
which  forcibly  illustrates  one  of  the  peculiar  phases  in  the 
character  of  the  editor. 

"Dan"  O'Hara  was  nominated  for  City  Treasurer  by 
the  Democrats  ;  the  incumbent,  David  Gage,  was  a  candi- 
date for  re-election. 

Grave  doubts  prevailed  as  to  the  integrity  of  Gage,  and 
there  was  a  demand  that  the  funds  in  his  possession  be 
counted.  Suspecting  that  there  was  a  deficit  in  his  ac- 
counts, the  Republicans,  to  prevent  a  scandal  in  their  party, 
resolved  to  re-elect  him,  with  the  hope  that,  if  there  was 
anything  wrong,  another  term  would  give  him  opportunity 
to  square  his  accounts. 

The  Times  supported  Gage,  as  did  every  other  daily  in 
the  city.  The  Times  was  very  severe  on  O'Hara,  whom  it 
abused  as  if  he  were  a  common  thief.  O'Hara  remonstrated 
with  me  against  this  scandalous  treatment,  stating  that  he 
was  a  life-long  Democrat  ;  that  he  had  always  given  the 
Times  a  cordial  support,  and  that  he  had  rallied  his  friends 
about  the  office  when  it  was  threatened  with  suppression. 

229 


230  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

For  these  reasons,  as  well  as  for  those  of  common  honesty 
—  which  included  the  selection  of  a  man  of  integrity  in 
place  of  a  defaulter  —  he  thought  Storey  ought  to  aid  him 
in  his  canvass. 

I  agreed  to  present  the  matter  to  the  "  Old  Man,"  and  did 
so  at  the  first  opportunity.  Storey  said  he  had  nothing 
against  O'Hara,  and  that  he  believed  Gage  to  be  a  de- 
faulter. 

* '  The  only  interest  I  have  in  the  City  Treasurer  is  in 
connection  with  the  bank  with  which  I  transact  business.  I 
want  it  to  have  a  share  in  the  deposits  of  the  City  Treas- 
urer. ' ' 

"Would  you  support  O'Hara  if  he  were  to  guarantee 
giving  your  bank  its  share  ? ' ' 

"Yes." 

I  informed  Dan,  who  was  greatly  delighted,  and  readily 
pledged  himself  to  give  Storey's  bank  a  fair  portion  of  the 
funds. 

I  reported  this  promise  to  Storey.  The  paper  said  nothing 
for  or  against  O'Hara  for  three  days  ;  on  the  morning  of 
the  fourth,  which  was  the  day  of  election,  the  Times  con- 
tained an  attack  on  the  Democratic  candidate,  of  the  vilest 
description,  and  this  without  a  word  of  warning  to  me  of 
the  change. 

It  will  please  those  who  are  not  familiar  with  the  result 
of  that  election,  to  learn  that  O'Hara  was  given  the  office 
by  a  majority  of  twelve  thousand  votes. 

The  outcome  of  the  contest  was  not  complimentary  to  the 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  231 

boasted  power  of  the  press,  as  every  newspaper  in  Chicago 
vehemently  opposed  him. 

O'Hara,  though  scandalously  maligned,  did  not  begin  a 
libel  suit ;  other  victims,  however,  were  not  so  considerate. 
The  Times  had  a  libel  suit  almost  constantly  in  progress. 
It  became  so  common  a  matter  that  Storey  paid  little  atten- 
tion to  them,  seemingly  considering  them  a  matter  of  course 
and  of  no  particular  consequence.  He  always  lost  in  a 
libel  case,  but  the  amounts  of  the  verdicts  were  never  very 
large,  until  one  day  a  jury  returned  a  verdict  against  him 
of  $25,000.  This  was  the  famous  Early  case,  which  will  be 
mentioned  at  length  in  another  place. 

The  amount  of  this  verdict  was  so  monstrous,  so  unwar- 
ranted, that  the  judge  reduced  it  to  $  15,000.  In  talking  the 
matter  over  with  Mr.  Storey,  I  suggested  that  he  allow  me 
to  look  over  the  cases  of  libel  pending,  and  he  consented.  I 
visited  Dexter,  the  lawyer  who  had  charge  of  all  of  the 
libel  cases,  and  to  my  astonishment  found  that  there  were 
twenty-four  suits  pending,  twenty-one  civil,  and  three 
criminal  indictments  —  one  for  libeling  Sam  Ashton,  a 
lawyer  and  ' '  boodler  ; ' '  one  obtained  by  ' '  Jim  ' '  McGrath, 
a  fifth-rate  politician,  and  one  for  the  publication  of  an 
indecent  newspaper. 

By  consent  of  Mr.  Storey,  I  took  charge  of  this  depart- 
ment of  litigation.  I  found  that  under  the  management  of 
his  attorney  there  had  been  a  large  amount  of  intentional 
delay  in  the  conduct  of  the  cases.  Mr.  Smith,  the  junior 
partner,  who  had  charge  of  a  portion  of  their  law  business, 


232  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

when  asked  why  the  cases  were  permitted  to  drag  so,  said  : 

"  The  purpose  of  delay  is  to  worry  and  wear  out  the 
plaintiff." 

"How  do  you  do  it?  " 

"Oh,  by  riling  demurrers  and  taking  action  which  we 
know  will  not  be  sustained,  but  which  will  delay  the  final 
trial,  and  in  that  way  we  sometimes  drive  a  man  from  the 
field."' 

I  looked  over  some  of  the  legal  bills  of  the  firm  for  the 
conduct  of  libel  cases,  and  found  the  largest  portion  of  the  • 
accounts  was  for  the  securing  of  dilatory  action. 

When  a  case  was  finally  reached  and  decided  against  the 
Times,  as  it  always  was,  it  was  then  appealed  to  the 
Supreme  Court,  not  with  the  expectation  of  securing  a 
reversal  of  the  verdict,  but  solely  to  delay  final  action.  At 
rare  intervals  a  new  trial  would  be  ordered,  and  then  the 
same  system  of  demurring  and  pleading,  absence  of  wit- 
nesses and  the  like,  to  secure  delays,  was  repeated. 

It  may  be  observed  here  that  the  juries  invariably  con- 
sidered Storey  as  a  mine  of  wealth,  and,  whether  the  libel 
was  justifiable  or  not,  they  concluded  that,  as  the  "Old  Man  " 
was  rich  and  the  plaintiff  poor,  he  would  not  miss  it  if  they 
gave  a  verdict  against  him.  "  Old  Storey  won't  miss  five 
hundred  dollars  out  of  his  millions,  and  it  will  do  Flaherty 
a  heap  of  good,"  was  the  way  they  argued. 

The  indictment  for  the  publication  of  an  obscene  paper 
was  one  caused  by  the  printing  of  the  particulars  of  a  nude 
dance  in  a  house  of  ill-fame.  On  the  grand  jury  that  found 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  233 

this  indictment  were  two  young  men  well  known  about  town, 
Fred  Krby  and  George  Brown.  The  Times  proceeded  to 
' '  lambaste ' '  these  two  young  men  in  the  most  approved 
style  and  to  cite  some  alleged  facts  in  their  private  lives  that 
were  not  complimentary,  and,  in  addition,  to  abuse  the  entire 
grand  jury  in  a  most  scandalous  manner. 

For  these  publications  Storey  was  arrested  and  brought 
before  Judge  Williams  for  contempt  of  court.  The  trial 
was  a  very  imposing  one.  A  lawyer  who  was  the  attorney 
of  Sheriff  Agnew  opened  the  case  for  Storey.  He  was 
followed  by  William  C.  Goudy,  in  one  of  his  long  con- 
stitutional speeches,  and  then  Emery  A.  Storrs  closed  the 
case  with  one  of  his  very  best  humorous,  effective,  brilliant 
efforts. 

The  Times,  anterior  to  this  indictment,  had  attacked 
Williams  on  many  occasions,  and  it  was  felt  that,  when  the 
case  of  contempt  came  before  him,  no  eloquence  or  logic,  or 
even  law,  would  prevent  his  finding  Storey  guilty,  for  the 
sake  of  revenging  himself  by  sending  him  to  jail.  He  pro- 
nounced the  sentence  of  imprisonment  ;  Storey's  lawyers 
vainly  pleaded  for  a  fine,  but  Williams  curtly  refused,  and 
ordered  the  sheriff  to  lock  his  prisoner  up.  The  bailiff  took 
the  ' '  Old  Man ' '  across  the  famous  bridge  traveled  by  so 
many  criminals  of  all  descriptions,  and  in  a  few  moments 
the  key  was  turned  upon  him,  and  the  great  editor  of  the 
Times  was  a  prisoner  in  a  common  jail. 

Anticipating  this  action,  Goudy  had  arranged  with  a 
railroad  to  have  a  locomotive  ready  with  steam  up,  which 


234  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

he  mounted  and  flew  with,  lightning  speed  to  Waukegan, 
where  Judge  McAllister  of  the  Supreme  Court  lived,  and 
secured  from  him  a  supersedeas,  with  which  he  returned  to 
Chicago  in  time  to  present  it  and  secure  Storey's  release  in 
the  course  of  the  evening. 

The  old  gentleman  was  not  confined  behind  the  bars,  but 
was  held  in  the  jailer's  office. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  Krby  and  Brown,  instead  of 
being  responsible  for  the  indictment,  had  both  fought 
against  it  when  the  matter  was  discussed  by  the  grand  jury. 

It  so  happened  that  among  the  spectators  of  the  nude 
exhibition  for  the  description  of  which  the  Times  was 
indicted  was  the  city  editor  of  a  prominent  daily  news- 
paper. After  Storey's  release,  I  addressed  a  private  note  to 
this  young  gentleman,  assuring  him  that  when  the  case 
came  to -trial  we  should  need  him  as  a  witness,  and  that  if 
he  had  any  objection  to  appearing  as  such,  possibly  it  would 
be  well  for  him  to  use  his  efforts  to  squelch  the  case. 
Whether  or  not  he  did  so,  I  don't  know,  but  in  any  case 
the  matter  never  came  to  a  trial. 

I  obtained  a  hint  from  an  anonymous  letter  about  some 
facts  rather  derogatory  to  the  early  career  of  Sam  Ashton. 
I  secured  by  correspondence  some  further  facts  in  regard  to 
the  same  person,  and  had  a  copy  sent  to  him,  telling  him 
that  it  would  be  used  on  trial  of  the  criminal  libel.  For 
some  reason  or  another  his  prosecution  was  abandoned 
without  trial. 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  235 


The  remaining  criminal  libel,  that  of  "Jim"  McGrath, 
was  called.  When  the  trial  was  finished  the  jury  remained 
out  all  night,  and  returned  into  court  with  a  disagreement, 
standing  six  to  six. 

It  was  well  known  that  McGrath' s  case  had  no  founda- 
tion in  justice,  but  was  a  malicious  personal  and  political 
persecution. 

These  three  cases  were  the  only  ones  in  which  I  took  a 
personal  interest.  The  Times  changed  its  legal  advisers  in 
the  management  of  its  libel  cases,  and  during  Mr.  Storey's 
control  of  the  paper  lost  but  one  other  case,  and  that  one 
which  involved  a  verdict  of  a  few  hundred  dollars. 

Since  that  sagacious  lawyer,  Alfred  S.  Trude,  took  charge 
of  the  libel  business  of  the  Times  and  Tribune,  neither  has 
been  afflicted  with  the  malady  of  adverse  verdicts. 


VII. 

THE  AUCK  EARI,Y  L,IBEI<  SUIT. 

THERE  came  by  the  late  mail  to  the  Times,  in  1876,  three 
letters  from  Rockford,  111.,  each  reciting  the  particulars  of 
an  alleged  scandal  involving  a  young  lady  and  a  promi- 
nent citizen.  The  letters  were  signed  by  well-known  citi- 
zens, the  hand-writing  of  two  of  them  being  familiar  to 
Charles  Atwood,  of  the  composition  department  of  the 
Times. 

The  letters  substantially  agreed  in  their  statements,  and, 
not  having  the  smallest  reason  to  doubt  their  truthfulness, 
Atwood  gave  them  out  to  the  printers,  and  they  duly  ap- 
peared the  next  morning. 

The  consternation  and  indignation  which  took  possession 
of  the  beautiful  town  on  Rock  River  when  the  Times 
reached  there  can  scarcely  be  imagined  as  to  their  dimen- 
sions. The  young  lady  involved  belonged  to  one  of  the 
best  families  in  the  place,  and  her  reputation  was  spotless. 

Warned  at  once  that  a  terrible  mistake,  a  blunder,  a 
crime,  had  been  committed,  the  Times  sent  a  reporter  by 
the  first  train  to  Rockford  and  found  that  the  letters  were 
forgeries,  and  that  there  was  not  even  a  trace  of  truth  in 
the  atrocious  scandal.  These  facts  were  published  in  full 

237 


238  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

in  the  Times,  together  with  ample  apologies  for  the  publica- 
tion. 

This  should  have  ended  the  matter,  but  bad  advisers 
seized  the  opportunity  to  foment  mischief.  The  retractions 
and  apologies  were  rejected,  and  suit  was  begun,  with  the 
result  of  the  astounding  verdict  of  twenty-five  thousand  dol- 
lars. It  is  but  the  truth  to  admit  that  a  majority  of  the 
community  was  a  unit  in  saying,  * '  It  served  old  Storey 
right!" 

The  case  was  appealed  to  the  Supreme  Court ;  the  judg- 
ment of  the  lower  court  was  affirmed  ;  then  a  rehearing  was 
asked  for  and  granted,  and  the  case  was  remanded. 

Meanwhile,  under  the  instruction  of  Storey,  and  the  ad- 
vice of  his  counsel,  A.  S.  Trude,  I  instituted  a  series  of 
quiet  investigations  into  the  private  life  of  the  plaintiff. 
There  were  some  vague  rumors  afloat,  which  I  traced  up, 
and  found  to  be  without  foundation.  A  worthless  character, 
who  had  once  lived  at  Rockford,  but  who  carried  on  an  ap- 
parently respectable  business  in  Chicago,  was  approached 
by  me  and  asked  as  to  his  knowledge  of  some  of  the  rumors 
referred  to. 

He  professed  to  know  something,  and  the  next  day  went 
to  Rockford,  told  the  interested  parties  about  my  seeing 
him,  and  presented  my  statements  in  a  light  that  produced 
the  conviction  that  I  had  offered  him  money  to  testify  to 
some  damaging  facts  in  regard  to  the  young  lady. 

The  grand  jury  was  in  session  ;  the  Chicago  witness  was 
taken  before  that  body,  and  I  and  an  ex-sheriff  of  Rock- 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  239 

ford,  whom  I  had  employed  as  detective  to  assist  in  the 
tracing  of  the  rumors,  were  indicted  for  a  "  conspiracy  to 
ruin  the  character ' '  of  the  young  lady  involved  in  the  suit. 

The  feeling  against  the  Times  in  Rockford  was  exceed- 
ingly bitter,  and  concentrated  on  me  when  the  finding  of 
the  jury  was  made  known.  Arrangements  were  made  to 
secure  a  public  triumph  by  arresting  me  in  Chicago  and 
taking  me  through  the  town  by  daylight  to  afford  the  com- 
munity a  sensation. 

A  friend  notified  me  by  telegraph  of  what  had  occurred,  and 
that  night,  on  a  late  train,  I  went  to  Rockford,  stayed  at  the 
house  of  an  acquaintance,  and  the  next  morning,  at  the  pre- 
cise hour  that  Sheriff  Peake  rang  the  bell  at  my  door  in 
Chicago,  I  entered  Judge  Brown's  court  with  a  bondsman 
and  gave  bail. 

The  gentleman  who  furnished  bail  resided  in  Rockford, 
but  had  once  lived  in  Chicago.  It  was  Anthony  Van 
Inwagen,  father  of  James  Van  Inwagen,  formerly  the  part- 
ner of  Hamill  on  the  Board  of  Trade.  When  I  first  came 
to  Chicago,  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  secure  a  home  for 
two  years  in  the  family  of  the  elder  Van  Inwagen. 

He  had  entire  confidence  in  my  innocence  of  the  infa- 
mous charge  contained  in  the  indictment,  and  became  my 
bondsman  with  the  sincere  belief  that  I  was  being  wronged. 

Sheriff  Peake  came  back  empty-handed,  and  considerably 
chagrined  to  find  me  out  on  bail,  although  he  was  one  of 
my  friends,  and  believed  that  there  was  a  conspiracy  against 
me  on  the  part  of  some  Rockford  politician. 


240  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

I  remained  in  Rockford  several  days  in  order  to  show 
the  people  that  I  was  not  ashamed  to  face  them.  Robert 
Porter  was  then  the  reporter  of  the  Inter-Ocean,  and  morn- 
ing after  morning  flooded  that  sheet  with  the  most  scandal- 
ous calumnies  of  me  and  the  other  defendant.  In  his  public 
career  as  a  tariff  correspondent  of  the  New  York  Tribune, 
and  in  all  his  connection  with  the  bureau  of  statistics,  he 
has  proved  his  unreliability  to  be  no  less,  and  himself  no 
less  an  outrageous  liar  than  when  he  was  reporting  my  case 
at  Rockford. 

Believing  Rockford  to  be  prejudiced,  I  secured  a  change 
of  venue,  and  the  case  went  from  Judge  Brown  to  Judge 
Thomas  Murphy,  of  Belvidere.  W.  W.  Woodward,  the 
prosecuting  attorney,  an  old  college  friend,  refused  to  con- 
duct the  case  against  me,  and  the  task  was  performed  by 
William  L,athrop,  a  lawyer  of  Rockford,  a  politician,  and 
who  secured  an  election  to  Congress  on  the  strength  of 
acting  as  the  prosecuting  lawyer. 

I  got  even  with  him  two  years  later,  when  he  was  a  candi- 
date for  renomination,  by  publishing  some  political  infor- 
mation of  a  damaging  nature,  which  reached  the  delegates 
a  couple  of  hours  before  the  opening  of  the  session. 

I  was  defended  by  an  imposing  array  qj  counsel :  A.  S. 
Trude,  W.  C.  Goudy,  Judge  Coon  of  Marengo,  Brazee  of 
Rockford,  and  Hmery  A.  Storrs,  all  personal  friends  of 
mine. 

Storrs  made  a  masterly  effort,  speaking  a  day  and  a  half. 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  241 

The  jury  disagreed.  Judge  Murphy  told  Storrs,  after 
the  trial,  that,  "if  the  jury  had  brought  in  a  verdict  of 
guilty,  he  would  have  set  it  aside  before  their  bottoms  had 
struck  their  seats. ' ' 

The  case,  after  a  time,  was  struck  from  the  docket. 

The  Early  libel  suit  was  eventually  tried  before  Judge 
Rogers,  Mr.  Storey  making  his  last  appearance  in  court, 
and  a  verdict  for  $500  was  found.  This  was  paid  after  a 
motion  for  a  new  trial  was  overruled,  and  thus  terminated 
a  very  famous  case. 


VIII. 
THE  Russo-TuRKiSH  WAR. 

IN  1877,  war  broke  out  between  Russia  and  Turk'ey. 
Having  had  a  taste  of  army  correspondence,  I  suggested  to 
Mr.  Storey  that  it  would  be  an  additional  feather  in  the  cap 
of  the  paper  to  have  a  representative  in  the  field.  The  mat- 
ter was  discussed  at  some  length,  and  seemed  to  impress 
him  favorably.  He  said  he  would  think  it  over. 

At  the  time  I  spoke  to  him,  war  had  not  been  declared, 
but  the  situation  was  menacing,  and  the  indications  were 
that  hostilities  might  be  declared  at  any  moment.  I  was 
anxious  to  visit  the  regions  involved,  and  urged  on  Mr. 
Storey  that,  if  the  Times  should  conclude  to  have  a  repre- 
sentative, I  would  be  the  best  within  his  reach,  from  my 
experience  in  military  operations  and  my  knowledge  of 
foreign  languages. 

It  was  finally  agreed  that  I  should  go,  if  war  was  de- 
clared, and  he  instructed  me  to  hold  myself  in  readiness  to 
start  at  a  moment's  notice. 

The  proclamation  of  the  Czar  was  flashed  across  the 
ocean.  I  immediately  saw  Mr.  Storey,  who  told  me  to  go 
at  once.  I  announced  that  I  would  be  ready  to  start  the 
next  morning.  Early  the  following  day  I  appeared  at  the 

242 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  243 

office  with  my  grip  packed,  and  stopped  on  my  way  at  the 
business  office,  to  say  good-by  to  Business  Manager  Patter- 
son. He  informed  me  that  I  needn't  be  in  a  hurry,  for  the 
reason  that  Mr.  Storey  had  sent  another  man. 

"Another  man?  You're  joking.  Who  is  the  other 
man?" 

"Keenan." 

"  I  don't  understand  it.  Mr.  Storey  ordered  me  yester- 
day to  get  ready  to  start  this  morning. ' ' 

"  I  know,"  said  Patterson,  "  that  he  did.  But  Keenan 
came  down  a  couple  of  hours  ago,  rushed  into  Mr.  Storey's 
office  and  urged  that  you  were  a  very  expensive  man,  and 
that  he  could  do  the  work  for  much  less  money." 

Who  is  Keenan  ? 

About  a  year  before,  I  happened  to  be  in  Indianapolis  on 
business  for  the  paper,  when  I  became  acquainted  with 
Colonel  Wilson,  who  had  charge  of  an  extensive  department 
in  the  business  of  the  Pullman  Sleeping  Car  Company.  He 
was  showing  me  about  the  town,  and  finally  said  : 

"Would  you  like  to  see  a  new  editor  we  have  in  the 
city?" 

I  expressed  a  willingness  to  meet  him,  and  thereupon  he 
took  me  to  one  of  the  newspaper  offices  and  entered  the 
editorial  rooms.  'The  only  occupant  was  a  young  man  who 
was  sitting  within  a  railed  enclosure,  facing  us  as  we  en- 
tered, and  whose  head  was  just  visible  above  a  paper  that 
he  was  reading.  We  walked  up  to  his  immediate  vicinity, 
when  the  Colonel  said  : 


244  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

1 '  Mr.  Keenan,  let  me  make  you  acquainted  with  Mr. 
Wilkie,  the  senior  editor  of  the  staff  of  the  Chicago  Times." 

Mr.  Keenan  never  raised  his  eyes  from  his  paper,  and  did 
not  appear  in  the  least  to  notice  our  presence.  We  stood 
for  a  moment  awaiting  some  sign  of  recognition,  and  it  was 
perhaps  a  full  minute  before  we  discovered  that  the  action 
on  the  part  of  Keenan  was  a  deliberate  cut. 

I  don't  think  there  was  any  situation  in  my  life  when  I 
was  so  much  mortified,  humiliated  and  enraged.  It  was  a 
distressingly  awkward  situation.  We  twisted  around  on 
our  feet,  felt  extremely  silly,  and  finally  sneaked  out  — 
sneaked  is  the  only  word  that  describes  the  manner  in  which 
we  left  the  room. 

A  few  weeks  before  the  negotiations  with  Mr.  Storey 
about  going  abroad,  I  noticed  a  stranger  flying  around  the 
hall  of  the  editorial  floor.  I  recognized  the  head  as  that  of 
Mr.  Keenan.  The  head  was  a  spherical  one  —  what  is 
popularly  termed  a  ' l  bullet  head. ' '  His  hair  was  thick  and 
black,  his  neck  short,  his  form  stubby,  and  his  stature  below 
the  average.  He  was  active  as  a  cat,  extremely  energetic, 
a  hard  worker,  a  fairly  good  writer,  as  he  took  and  filled 
acceptably  a  position  on  the  editorial  staff,  and  was  the 
possessor  of  an  audacity  which  equaled  that  of  lyUcifer. 

When  he  first  came  he  was  assigned  a  room  some  dis- 
tance from  that  occupied  by  Mr.  Storey.  In  less  than  a 
week  he  had  moved  himself  into  the  ante-room  through 
which  everybody  had  to  pass  who  wished  to  see  Mr. 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  245 

Storey.     This  was  the  gentleman  who  had  supplanted  me 
as  the  correspondent  for  the  Russo-Turkish  war. 

Of  course  I  was  frightfully  humiliated  by  the  occurrence 
and  entertained  no  kindly  feeling  for  Mr.  Storey  or  Mr. 
Keenan.  I  gave  up  the  idea  of  going  entirely,  and  went  on 
with  my  usual  work,  and  all  the  time  was  careful  to  avoid 
seeing  Storey. 

A  month  passed.  One  morning  as  I  was  going  through 
the  counting-room  Patterson  called  me  into  his  office,  and 
said,  a  broad  smile  illuminating  his  face  : 

"Well,  old  man,  you  pack  your  carpet-sack  for  Bulgaria, 
and  this  time  there  won't  be  any  mistake  about  it.  You  are 
to  get  ready  to  start  by  the  first  train." 

"What  are  you  giving  me  ?  " 

<lOh,  it  is  all  on  the  square.  Keenan  has  been  dis- 
charged. ' ' 

* '  '  Discharged  ? '     What  do  you  mean  ? ' ' 

"  Keenan  has  slopped  over.  This  morning  we  got  a  cable 
of  two  solid  columns  from  London  and  found  after  it  had 
been  set  up  that  we  had  the  same  matter  which  had  been 
standing  on  the  galleys  for  several  days,  and  which  was  a 
verbatim  dispatch  which  had  appeared  in  the  columns  of 
the  London  Times.  Storey  was  so  angry  that  he  instantly 
discharged  Keenan  by  cable. ' ' 

I  went  up  to  Storey's  room,  and  he  said  : 

"You  will  have  to  go  abroad  after  all.  Keenan  has 
made  a  botch  of  it." 

He  then  related  to  me  substantially  what  Patterson  had 


246  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

told  me.  He  gave  me  some  instructions  as  to  what  I  was 
to  do.  To  my  surprise  I  was  told  that  I  was  not  expected 
to  go  to  the  scene  of  operations,  but  that  I  was  to  make  my 
headquarters  in  L,ondon,  and  use  such  means  to  obtain 
information  as  I  found  to  be  most  available.  Later  in  the 
day  I  dropped  into  Mr.  Storey's  room,  when  he  read  me  a 
dispatch  from  Keenan,  saying  :  "  What  shall  I  do  with  the 
men  and  the  office  ? ' ' 

' '  '  Men  and  office, '  ' '  repeated  Storey,  with  supreme  con- 
tempt. "  What  the  hell  does  the  idiot  mean  by  '  men  and 
office'?" 

He  never  replied  to  Keenan' s  dispatch.  When  I  reached 
the  cable  office  in  L,ondon,  I  made  some  inquiries  about  my 
predecessor.  I  learned  that  he  had  rented  and  fitted  up  an 
office  in  a  building,  and  had  employed  a  man  and  sent  him 
to  the  front. 

"  'E  was  a  rahther  queer  chap,  was  this  'ere  Keenan," 
said  the  clerk.  "  '  K  comes  in  'ere  one  mawnin'  and  'e  ses 
to  me  :  '  Aw,  you  don't  know  nothink  about  telegrawphin' 
news,  you  don't.  Hi'm  goin'  to  show  you  'ow  we  do  it  in 
Hamericar,'  ses  'e.  'Hi'm  goin'  to  hinundate  you  with 
stuff,'  ses  'e.  And  blest  if  'e  didn't,  for  one  day  !  But  'is 
message  'adn't  more  than  reached  the  other  soide  w'en  back 
comes  one  for  'im  that  lifted  'im  out  into  the  street.  That's 
wot  it  did." 

"  Do  you  know  where  he  is  now  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,  I  don't  know  w'ere  'e  is,  but  I  do  know  that  'e 
went  away  without  pay  in'  'is  rent  or  for  'is  furniture." 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  247 

I  may  as  well  as  not  finish  with  Keenan  at  this  point  as 
to  the  "  men  and  office  "  to  which  he  alluded  in  his  dispatch 
to  Mr.  Storey  immediately  after  his  discharge.  It  involves 
an  element  of  great  hardship  and  manifest  injustice. 

Some  weeks  passed  when  there  came  a  letter  to  me,  signed 
D.  Christie  Murray,  claiming  that  the  writer  had  been 
employed  by  Keenan  to  go  to  the  seat  of  operations,  and 
had  suddenly  been  informed  by  Keenan  that  he  had  been 
removed  as  the  agent  of  the  Chicago  Times,  and  could  do 
nothing  for  him.  I  sent  his  letter  to  the  home  office,  and 
so  informed  Murray.  This  was  in  January,  1878.  In 
March  I  received  the  following  letter  from  Murray,  dated 
at  West  Brunswick,  Staffordshire  : 

"MY  DEAR  SIR  :  — I  have  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Storey,  a  copy 
of  which  I  enclose.  It  does  not  appear  to  me  at  all  to  meet  the 
exigencies  of  the  case,  and  I  have  to  give  you  formal  notice  of  my 
intention  to  take  legal  steps  for  the  recovery  of  the  amount  of  my 
claim.  My  first  overture  towards  a  prompt  settlement  of  the  matter 
having  failed,  I  shall  (since  it  becomes  necessary  for  me  to  undergo 
an  exposure  of  the  pecuniary  difficulties  into  which  I  was  thrown  by 
Keenan 's  default)  place  a  higher  value  upon  my  claim  and  shall  add 
to  it  .such  sum  for  damages  as  my  solicitors  may  advise.  Before  pro- 
ceeding to  this  very  unpleasant  action,  I  shall  allow  a  week  to  elapse, 
and  I  trust  that  even  yet  the  matter  may  be  amicably  arranged.  It 
cannot  reflect  happily  on  your  journal  to  find  its  name  dragged  into 
the  courts  on  a  question  like  this." 

As  the  matter  was  "  not  my  funeral  "  I  did  not  answer 
this  communication. 

As  a  part  of  the  correspondence,  and  for  the  purpose  of 


248  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

shedding  some  light  on  one  of  Storey's  peculiarities,  I 
append  his  letter  in  reply  to  Murray's.  It  is  dated  Febru- 
ary n,  1878,  and  bears  the  characteristic  ear-marks  of  the 
ukases  so  often  issued  from  the  Czar  of  the  Times'  dominion  : 
"  D.  C.  MURRAY,  ESQ.  Sir:  —  Keenan  was  authorized  to  buy  news 
for  the  Times,  and  was  supplied  during  his  engagement  with  money 
for  the  purpose.  He  never  had  any  authority,  and  knew  perfectly 
well  that  it  was  not  intended  he  should  have  any  authority  to  enter 
into  any  contract  by  which  this  office  should  be  bound  for  a  debt  or 
damages.  He  had  no  more  right  than  you  have  to  sign  the  name  of 
the  undersigned  to  any  paper,  or  for  any  purpose. 

"Yours,  etc.,  W.  F.  STOREY, 

"Per  Dennett." 

On  the  6th  of  June,  I  again  heard  from  Murray.  His 
letter  was  dated  from  4  Davis  Inn,  Strand,  W.  It  read  : 

"SiR  :  —  I  am  somewhat  surprised  at  the  want  of  courtesy  you  have 
displayed  in  ignoring  my  last  letter.  I  learn  that  it  will  be  of  no 
avail  for  me  to  proceed  at  law  against  the  Chicago  Times  for  the 
recovery  of  the  ^134  I  claim  from  its  proprietor.  I  shall,  therefore, 
attempt  no  legal  action,  but  I  shall  take  such  measures  as  to  me  seem 
most  likely  to  be  effectual  to  prevent  my  journalistic  brothers  from 
being  taken  in  the  trap  from  which  I  have,  with  so  much  damage  to 
myself,  escaped. 

"In  consequence  of  the  repudiation  of  my  claim  by  the  Chicago 
Times,  I  am  most  bitterly  embarrassed.  The  sum  which  that  journal 
owes  me  would  not  only  set  me  free  from  my  present  monetary 
troubles,  but  would  put  me  in  a  position  to  continue  my  own  work 
with  ease  and  profit.  In  the  face  of  absolute  poverty,  literary  work 
gathers  difficulties  which  are  not  natural  to  it.  I  could  never  well 
afford  to  be  robbed,  but  at  this  time  the  fraud  of  which  the  pro- 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  249 

prietors  of  the  Times  have  been  guilty  is  fatal  to  my  position  and  is 
likely  to  be  fatal  to  me. 

"I  claim  nothing  for  commiseration,  but  I  submit  that  my  demand 
against  your  journal  is  just  and  moderate.  In  a  week's  time,  I  shall 
not  only  be  friendless,  but  homeless.  I  am  already  dishonored  by 
debts  for  which  the  Chicago  Times  is  alone  responsible  ;  but  I  shall 
leave  a  record  which  will  scarcely  be  flattering  to  those  upon  whom 
the  responsibility  rests. 

"I have,  as  a  matter  of  course,  no  feud  with  you,  and,  desperate  as 
my  case  is,  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  address  you  in  this  way,  but  I  must 
make  my  'protest  somehow,  and  I  can  only  do  it  through  you. 

"D.  CHRISTIE  MURRAY." 

My  sympathies  were  profoundly  affected  by  his  con- 
dition, but,  as  I  was  powerless  to  relieve  it,  I  felt  that  silence 
on  my  part,  while  apparently  ungenerous  and  discourteous, 
would  be,  in  the  end,  the  best.  I  could  not  aid  him,  and  I 
thought  that  his  wounds,  if  left  undisturbed,  would  sooner 
heal. 

The  last  communication  from  Mr.  Murray  was  short  and 
pointed.  He  wrote  soon  after  the  preceding  letter,  from 
the  same  locality,  Davis  Inn,  the  following  : 

"SiR: — You  have  not  troubled  to  answer  my  letter.  Unless  I 
receive  an  answer  to  this,  the  whole  story  of  my  engagement  with 
your  journal  will  be  in  the  hands  of  the  New  York  Herald  (who  will 
be  glad  to  use  it)  by  next  post.  Your  least  courtesy  would  be  to 
make  some  response,  if  it  were  ever  so  coldly  official." 

I  did  not  reply  even  to  this  communication.  I  believed 
that  his  claim  was  just ;  that  he  had  been  scandalously 
treated  ;  that  the  Times  should  have  remunerated  him  to 
some  extent,  and,  hence,  did  not  care  to  the  extent  of  a 


250  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

nickel  if  the  affair  should  be  aired  in  the  American  news- 
papers. 

In  the  following  summer,  while  in  Paris  to  look  up  the 
International  Exposition,  I  met  Keenan,  who  was  in  a  posi- 
tion not  much  more  desirable  than  that  in  which  he  had 
been  the  means  of  placing  the  unfortunate  Murray.  He 
was  ' '  broke ' '  and  among  strangers.  However,  he  man- 
aged to  return  to  New  York,  where  he  issued  a  novel, 
' '  pitching  into  ' '  financial  swells,  and  which  is  said  to  have 
made  a  creditable  success. 

How  Murray  extricated  himself  from  his  difficulties  I 
never  knew.  He  reached  I^ondon  in  time,  and  beyond 
question  gave  a  bad  name  to  American  journalists  with  his 
English  newspaper  friends. 

Despite  his  ' '  bitter  embarrassment, "  "  absolute  poverty, ' ' 
and  being  on  the  verge  of  ' '  homelessness  and  friendless- 
ness,"  he  resumed  his  occupation  of  novel- writing,  in  which 
he  had  been  very  successful  anterior  to  his  engagement  by 
Keenan,  and  is  now  probably  marching  on  the  highway 
leading  to  fortune. 

He  seems,  however,  destined  to  occasional  set-backs.  It 
was  announced  a  few  months  ago  that  an  English  author, 
D.  Christie  Murray,  had  met  with  some  serious  misadvent- 
ure in  Texas.  All  these  trials  may  prove  disguised  bless- 
ings, as  they  may  be  used  as  the  basis  of  many  realistic  antf 
thrilling  novels. 


IX. 

Russo-TuRKiSH  WAR  AND  IRISH  POLITICS. 

IN  the  absence  of  specific  instructions  from  the  home 
office,  I  did  not,  at  the  outset  of  my  career  in  L,ondon,  in 
the  early  part  of  1877,  devote  very  much  attention  to  Russo- 
Ttirkish  war  proceedings.  I  sent  rumors  from  the  front, 
war  sentiment  among  the  English,  military  preparation,  a 
good  deal  of  Irish  news,  and  some  other  material  by  the 
cable,  and  wrote  two  letters  a  week  of  men  and  manners  in 
the  capital. 

I  had  taken  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Hon.  John  Dillon, 
member  of  Parliament,  from  Melville  K.  Stone  of  this  city. 
I  had  also  taken  one  of  the  same  kind  from  the  Pinkerton 
agency  to  one  of  the  prominent  inspectors  of  Scotland 
Yard. 

My  arrival  threw  a  great  portion  of  L,ondon  into  a  fierce 
commotion.  I  went  to  the  House  of  Commons,  after  mail- 
ing my  letter  to  Dillon,  to  send  in  a  card  to  him.  It  was 
yet  winter,  and  I  still  wore  an  American  overcoat  and  cap, 
the  former  a  long  ulster  with  a  wide,  flowing  collar,  and 
the  latter  a  black  "Alexis"  seal-skin  without  any  visor. 
I  noticed  that  as  I  passed  along  the  halls  people  seemed 
to  glance  at  me  with  something  like  curiosity  in  their  faces. 

257 


252  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

The  policemen  who  guard  the  halls  at  intervals  always 
spied  me  for  a  long  distance  before  I  reached  them,  and 
always  stopped  me  as  if  I  were  an  intruder,  and  seemed 
astonished  to  find  that  I  had  business  with  a  member. 
While  an  usher  was  absent  with  my  card,  I  waited  in  the 
ante-room,  and  was  the  center  of  curious  looks.  When 
Dillon  came  out,  and  shook  hands  with  me,  there  was  an 
increase  in  the  agitation. 

The  incident  might  be  extended  to  an  indefinite  length. 
The  papers  —  some  of  them  —  mentioned  the  frequent 
appearance  in  the  lobbies  of  the  house  of  a  stranger,  and 
unmistakably  a  foreigner,  who  held  secret  consultations 
with  the  disaffected  Irish  members. 

At  the  house  in  Bloomsbury  Square  where  I  had  a  room, 
the  chambermaid,  who  had  become  my  admirer  from  the 
munificence  of  tuppenny  tips,  informed  me  in  strict  con- 
fidence that  her  young  man  ' '  was  a- watching  me  ; ' '  that 
he  was  in  the  government  service.  I  reported  this  to 
Dillon,  who  made  a  strong  attack,  in  a  speech,  upon  the 
Tory  ministry,  for  the  employment  of  spies  on  his  personal 
friends  and  associates. 

One  day  soon  after  this,  I  was  eating  a  chop  in  a  house  in 
the  Strand,  when  there  entered  a  stout-built  fellow  who 
took  a  seat  at  a  table  where  he  faced  me.  He  ordered  some- 
thing, and  meanwhile  glanced  at  me  furtively  ;  it  was  some- 
body I  had  seen  before,  but  who,  where,  or  when,  I  could 
not  recall.  At  length  he  addressed  me  : 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  253 

"  Are  you  the  gent  that  brought  a  letter  from  the  Pinker- 
tons  to  Scotland  Yard  ?  " 

' '  Yes,  I  brought  one.     Why  do  you  ask  ?  ' ' 
"You  are  a  reporter  on  a  newspaper  in  America  ?  " 
"  I'm  a  correspondent  of  an  American  newspaper." 
He  began  to  laugh  with  great  glee.     "Why,  blow  me," 
he   said,  ' '  if  they  aint  been  takin'   you  for  some  bloody 
furrin  conspirator,  and  been  frightened  out  of  'alf  their  seven 
senses!     Ha!  ha  1  ha!" 

He  offered  his  hand,  and  said :  ' '  Come  up  to  the  Yard 
and  see  us.  Good-by." 

The  next  morning  I  saw  in  one  of  the  newspapers  that 
the  mysterious  foreigner  seen  in  consultation  with  certain 
Irish  members  had  proved  to  be  the  reporter  of  an  Amer- 
ican journal. 

During  the  remainder  of  my  stay  in  England,  I  depended 
very  largely  on  Mr.  Dillon  for  information  on  Irish  affairs. 
When  he  was  in  London  I  secured  the  intelligence  from  him 
in  person  ;  when  he  was  in  Ireland,  he  sent  me  frequent  dis- 
patches by  telegraph  —  in  fact,  he  acted  as  the  representa- 
tive of  the  Times  bureau.  He  did  not  receive  any  compen- 
sation for  this  telegraphic  service ;  he  prepaid  his  dis- 
patches, keeping  an  account  of  them,  for  which  I  paid  him 
at  intervals. 

Mr.  Dillon  was  one  of  the  most  interesting  gentlemen  I 
ever  met.  He  had  the  appearance  of  a  Spanish  hero  of 
romance.  He  Was  tall,  erect,  slenderly  formed,  with  very 
dark  complexion,  black  hair  and  beard,  large,  dark  eyes, 


254  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

full  of  a  dreamy  poetry.  The  general  expression  of  his 
face  was  one  of  sadness.  I  need  not  mention  his  qualities 
as  a  speaker,  for  the  reason  that  he  has  been  heard  on  at 
least  two  journeys  through  this  country.  He  is,  in  brief, 
a  most  attractive  figure,  an  acute  politician,  an  honest 
patriot,  a  wise  statesman,  and  a  polished,  agreeable  gentle- 
man. 

I  made  several  efforts  to  put  myself  in  communication 
with  Parnell.  I  wrote  him  a  number  of  times  in  regard  to 
current  events  or  possibilities  of  the  future,  and  either  re- 
ceived no  answer  at  all  or  one  of  a  wholly  unsatisfactory 
nature. 

A  member  of  Parliament  from  whom  I  received  a  great 
deal  of  aid  and  attention  was  J.  H.  Puleston,  who  was  popu- 
larly known  as  the  "American  member,"  he  having  lived 
for  a  time  in  Philadelphia.  He  was  a  member  from  Wales, 
thoroughly  well-informed  on  political  affairs,  a  banker,  a 
genial  and  entertaining  host,  and  an  admirable  manager  in 
the  operation  of  political  plans. 

I  knew  several  of  the  other  Irish  members,  jolly  fellows, 
very  fond  of  "the  crathur,"  tellers  of  good  stories,  broadly 
humorous,  but  apparently  members  of  Parliament  rather  for 
the  purpose  of  filling  vacancies  than  being  on  hand  to  vote 
on  the  right  side  of  any  phase  of  the  Irish  question  that  was 
before  the  House. 

The  Irish  question  and  the  Russo-Turkish  war  covered 
most  of  the  ground  of  my  cable  matter.  As  I  said  at  the 
outset,  I  sent  only  an  occasional  short  dispatch  regarding 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          255 

the  events  at  the  seat  of  war,  and  more  in  reference  to 
Irish  politics.  Mr.  Storey  began  writing  me  to  extend  the 
size  of  the  dispatches  and  increase  their  frequency. 

During  this  portion  of  my  stay  in  London,  he  wrote  me 
quite  often,  suggesting  outlines  for  my  work. 


X. 

MR.  STOREY  VISITS  EUROPE. 

DURING  this  period  of  my  stay  abroad  as  correspondent 
of  trie  Times,  I  had  no  office,  no  organization,  but  collected 
my  information  from  various  sources,  and  used  my  lodgings 
as  headquarters.  It  was  at  a  subsequent  visit  in  1880-1  that 
a  bureau  was  organized,  and  this  will  be  spoken  of  later. 

My  time  was  chiefly  occupied  in  letter- writing,  although 
during  the  wdnter  of  1877-8  the  intelligence  from  the  seat  of 
war  was  very  heavy,  and  that,  in  connection  with  keeping 
watch  of  English  public  opinion  and  probable  action  in 
reference  to  the  belligerents,  kept  me  very  much  occupied. 
My  son,  John  E.  Wilkie,  came  over  in  September  of  1877  and 
was  of  great  assistance  to  me  in  the  collection  of  information 
and  the  conduct  of  the  affairs  of  the  office. 

In  July  of  1877  I  was  ordered  to  Edinburgh  to  witness 
and  report  the  gathering  and  proceedings  of  the  great  Pan- 
Presbyterian  convention.  I  have  already,  in  my  book, 
''Sketches  Beyond  the  Sea,"  elaborated  the  details  of  this 
trip.  I  refer  to  this  visit  now  because,  as  this  work  is  one 
of  my  personal  experiences  in  journalism,  I  wish  to  put  it 
on  record  that  the  editor  of  the  Scotsman,  and  Villeinessant, 
of  the  Paris  Figaro,  are  the  only  two  editors  in  Europe 

256 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          257 

with  whom  I  succeeded  in  coming  in  contact  during  the 
three  periods  that  I  resided  abroad. 

I  saw  these  two  face  to  face  ;  I  shook  hands  with  them  ; 
they  revealed  themselves  living  entities,  as  being  of  flesh 
and  blood,  in  all  of  which  respects  they  were  utterly  unlike 
all  the  other  editors  of  whom  I  heard,  but  whom  I  never 
saw.  The  editors  of  all  the  other  papers  except  these  two 
were  mysteries,  intangible,  inaccessible,  anonymous,  un- 
known. If  there  were  any  men  who  were  realities  at  the 
head  of  the  British  press,  they  were  railed  off  within  sacred 
and  secreted  places,  to  which  the  world  had  no  access. 

There  was  an  awful  solemnity  and  secrecy  about  the 
British  editor.  A  man  who  is  connected  with  the  editorial 
department  of  a  British  newspaper  is  absolutely  debarred 
from  allowing  the  fact  to  be  known. 

In  May  of  the  next  year,  1878,  I  was  ordered  to  go  to 
Paris  to  witness  the  opening  of  the  International  Exposition. 
There  is  no  necessity  of  my  furnishing  any  of  the  details  of 
this  portion  of  my  work  while  abroad,  as  what  I  saw  was 
presented  at  the  time  of  my  stay  in  the  French  capital. 

Meanwhile  I  had  been  hearing  through  my  friends  in  the 
Times  office  that  Mr.  Storey's  health  was  failing,  that  he 
had  spent  some  time  at  the  Hot  Springs  in  Arkansas,  and 
that  the  physician  in  charge  had  asserted  that  the  former 
diagnosis  of  his  difficulty  —  which  had  been  pronounced  by 
Chicago  physicians  as  a  stomach  trouble  —  was  incorrect, 
and  that  the  lesion  was  cerebral  in  its  location. 

In  the  latter  part  of  May  I  received  a  telegram  dated  at 


258  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

the  Westminster  Hotel,  London,  signed  W.  F.  Storey,  and 
instructing  me  to  report  to  him  at  once  in  person.  I  was  a 
good  deal  astonished  at  the  receipt  of  the  telegram,  as  I  did 
not  know  till  then  that  he  had  left  Chicago,  although  he 
had  informed  me  by  letter  that  he  was  contemplating  to 
make  at  some  time  a  trip  to  the  Old  World. 

In  one  sense  Mr.  Storey  had  not  been,  up  to  that  time, 
much  of  a  traveler.  He  went  once  to  Dakota  to  see  a  big 
field  of  wheat.  He  went  to  New  York  once  in  1868  to 
marry  his  second  wife.  Once  in  two  or  three  years  he 
would  visit  South  Bend,  where  he  had  some  nephews  and 
nieces.  He  also,  as  said,  made  a  trip  to  the  Hot  Springs. 
This  was  all  the  traveling  he  did  until  he  was  sixty  years 
of  age,  when  he  concluded  to  visit  Europe. 

Meanwhile  he  had  been,  in  his  earlier  years,  a  constant 
and  regular  traveler  along  other  routes.  At  a  furious  gallop 
he  traversed  the  vine-clad,  wine-producing  territory  occupied 
by  the  Corinthian  Lais  and  others  of  the  famous  charming, 
lascivious  and  indecorous  of  the  gentler  sex.  His  pace 
was  what  fox-hunters  call  a  killing  one.  Together  with  his 
ardent  labor  in  his  profession,  these  bursts  of  speed  resulted 
in  what  specialists  term  ' '  sclerosis, "  or  a  lesion  located  in 
the  brain.  This  condition  led  him  to  make  the  visit  to  the 
Hot  Springs  from  which  he  returned  with  the  belief  that  he 
was  very  much  better. 

I  hurried  to  Calais,  across  the  channel,  and  by  train  to 
London,  and  early  the  next  morning  sent  my  card  up  to  the 
room  of  the  editor.  I  was  painfully  astonished  when  I  en- 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          259 

tered  and  saw  the  tall  figure  that  came  forward  to  meet  me. 
His  hair  had  turned  to  a  dead,  bleached  white  ;  his  eyes 
had  lost  much  of  their  former  brilliancy,  and  were  dull  and 
sunken.  The  face  had  a  pinched  appearance,  and  the  long, 
slender  fingers  were  thin  and  cold.  He  was  still  proudly 
erect  in  his  carriage,  and  in  this  direction  exhibited  his 
matchless  spirit.  He  might  pale  and  bleach  and  wrinkle, 
but  he  would  not  be  bent  by  the  enemy. 

His  voice  had  lost  much  of  its  old  firmness.  It  was  low, 
and  a  trifle  suggestive  of  weakness.  His  step  was  slower 
and  more  hesitating  than  when  I  had  left  him  the  year 
before.  He  leaned  heavily  on  a  cane  when  he  moved,  and 
advanced  slowly,  like  a  man  who  had  just  risen  from  a  long 
and  wearing  illness.  After  a  short  chat  over  home  matters 
and  things  over  in  Paris,  his  eyes  suddenly  took  on  some  of 
their  old  light,  his  face  grew  stern,  and  his  breath  came 
with  a  hissing  sound  through  his  closed  teeth. 

I  recognized  the  long  familiar  symptom.  He  was  mad. 
When  at  home  in  his  office,  if  the  staff  of  writers  on  the 
editorial  floor  heard  a  quick,  firm  step  in  the  hall,  accom- 
panied by  a  harsh  wheezing,  they  knew  at  once  that  the  old 
man  was  in  a  temper.  If  the  step  was  slow  and  deliberate, 
and  a  monotonous  species  of  whistling  was  heard,  then  each 
listener  knew  that  the  skies  were  serene,  and  menaced  by 
no  storm. 

After  a  few  moments,  in  which  his  breath  came  and  went 
in  the  familiar  style,  and  during  which  I  ran  over  everything 
I  had  done  to  discover  if  any  of  my  lightning-rods  were 


260  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

down  and  left  me  exposed  to  the  swift-coming  tempest,  he 
said  : 

4 'We  must  pitch  into  the line  of  steamers.  It's 

simply  damnable  the  way  they  do  things  ! ' ' 

I  was  at  once  relieved  :  the  storm  had  passed  by  on  the 
other  side. 

1 '  Is  that  so  ?  The line  has  the  reputation  of  being 

one  of  the  safest  on  the  ocean." 

<(  It  may  be  all  right  as  to  safety  ;  that  isn't  what  I  am 
complaining  of.  The  morning  we  got  into  Liverpool,  I  had 
just  dropped  into  a  sleep,  the  first  for  forty-eight  hours, 
when  I  was  suddenly  waked  up  by  a  most  infernal  racket 
on  the  deck  right  over  my  head.  I  rang  for  the  steward  and 
told  him  to  stop  that  noise.  He  said  he'd  try,  but  it  didn't 
stop,  and  then  I  rang  again.  The  steward  then  came  back 
and  said  he  couldn't  stop  it,  and  then  I  ordered  him  to  send 
down  the  captain.  After  a  long  time  the  captain  came,  but 
not  until  I  had  sent  for  him  four  or  five  times.  When  he 
did  come  at  last,  I  asked  him  why  in  hell  he  outraged  his 
passengers  by  allowing  such  a  noise  over  their  heads  when 
they  were  trying  to  get  some  sleep.  He  went  on  to  explain 
something  or  other,  but  didn't  satisfy  me  or  stop  the  noise." 

' '  That  was  intolerable  ! ' ' 

( { I  want  to  give  that  line  hell,  and  I  want  you  to  attend 
to  it." 

"All  right;  I'll  attend  to  it." 

I  didn't  attend  to  it  further  than  to  learn  that  the  "  out- 
rage "  occurred  when  the  ship  had  come  to  anchor,  and,  as 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  261 

usual,  a  small  engine  was  set  at  work  raising  the  baggage 
out  of  the  hold. 

His  sending  for  the  captain  of  the  steamer  was  character- 
istic of  one  of  the  phases  of  his  nature.  He  imagined  him- 
self supreme  in  the  possession  of  authority,  and  I  do  not 
doubt  that,  had  he  had  occasion  in  his  business  to  order 
Jehovah  into  his  presence  and  to  rebuke  Him  for  supposed 
offenses,  he  would  not  have  hesitated  a  second,  provided  he 
had  a  messenger  to  convey  the  summons. 

He  had  come  over  to  travel  through  Kurope  for  the  bene- 
fit of  his  health.  A  route,  which  included  the  principal 
cities  of  the  continent,  was  laid  out,  and,  very  soon  after, 
we  started  for  Dover  and  crossed  over  to  Ostend.  Fortun- 
ately, the  channel  was  on  its  good  behavior,  and  we  reached 
the  Belgian  coast  without  his  being  much  upset  by  the 
journey. 

All  along  the  ride  through  the  beautiful  hedges  and  farms 
of  England  he  noticed  nothing.  On  the  ship  he  sat  with 
bowed  head,  as  if  occupied  with  a  dream. 

At  Brussels  it  rained  the  next  morning.  It  rained  for 
two  consecutive  days,  and  then  came  a  clear  morning.  We 
drove  out  to  visit  the  site  of  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  and 
had  just  reached  the  point,  when  again  the  rain-clouds  envel- 
oped us,  and  we  were  obliged  to  return  to  the  city. 

These  storms  struck  me  afterwards  as  being  portentous  of 
evil.  They  greeted  us  almost  immediately  on  our  arrival 
on  the  continent,  and  persistently  dogged  us  nearly  every 
day  and  night  thereafter. 


262  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

We  left  Brussels  in  a  furious  storm  and  went  to  Amster- 
dam. The  hosts  of  rain  pelted  the  roof  and  windows  of 
the  car  without  intermission.  At  Amsterdam  a  cold, 
furious  norther  tore  down  on  us  from  the  Zuyder  Zee, 
chilled  us  to  the  very  marrow,  and  drove  us  shivering  back 
and  over  to  the  Rhine.  The  Cathedral  at  Cologne,  the 
venerable  town,  the  surface  of  the  river,  the  swells  of  the 
mountains  were  covered  with  inky  clouds  that  deluged  us 
with  water. 

I  began  to  grow  superstitious.  It  was  as  if  a  malignant 
demon  were  pursuing  us,  and  threatening  us  with  some  dire 
calamity.  Mr.  Storey  seemed  to  be  keenly  and  unfavorably 
impressed  by  the  persistent  environment  of  gloom.  There 
was  a  slight  cessation  of  the  storm's  pursuit  as  we  crossed 
from  Mayence,  by  Seidelberg,  in  Germany,  to  Basle,  in 
Switzerland,  where  we  halted  for  the  night. 

Now,  in  the  high  altitudes  of  Switzerland,  I  confidently 
anticipated  an  improvement  in  the  health  and  spirits  of  the 
traveler.  He  did  not  respond  to  the  pure  air  of  the  heights. 
We  moved  to  Lucerne,  whose  magnificent  lake,  marvelous 
geological  phenomena,  towering  mountains  and  unique 
antiquities,  I  was  certain,  would  rouse  him  from  the  lethargy 
that  had  taken  possession  of  him.  He  glanced  indifferently 
at  the  Titanic,  snowy  Alps,  the  circle  of  ancient  watch 
towers,  the  curious  bridges,  with  their  ancient  paintings, 
which  span  the  Reuss,  as  if  they  did  not  interest  him.  His 
speech  became  little  more  than  an  occasional  mumble,  and 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          263 

his  thoughts  were  fixed  apparently  as  if  engaged  in  introspec- 
tion.    The  locality  was  not  benefiting  him. 

Reluctantly  I  piloted  him  to  the  train,  and  night  found 
us  at  Berne,  the  Swiss  capital.  The  ' '  Old  Man  ' '  went  to  his 
room  with  a  feeble,  shuffling  step,  still  silent  and  preoccupied. 
I  bade  him  good-night  with  the  assurance  that  the  next 
night  we  wrould  be  in  one  of  the  most  famous,  beautiful  and 
noble  cities  of  Europe,  Geneva.  He  responded  with  a  faint 
smile,  and  some  remark  so  low  that  it  escaped  my  under- 
standing. 

As  was  my  custom  at  all  points  on  the  trip,  I  had  risen 
at  early  dawn  —  for  we  traveled  only  during  the  day  —  and 
had  been  taking  notes  of  the  town.  At  about  nine  o'clock 
I  returned  to  the  hotel,  and  when  I  entered  the  hall  on 
which  the  Storey  party  had  rooms,  I  noticed  servants  rush- 
ing in  and  out  of  the  apartments.  I  hurried  forward  and 
entered  the  room. 

Mr.  Storey  was  seated  in  a  chair,  and  was  a  figure  that 
struck  me  with  horror.  His  face  was  as  white  as  chalk. 
The  right  side  of  his  mouth  was  drawn  around  and  up  as  if 
it  had  been  caught  in  the  corner  by  a  hook  and  pulled  up 
by  a  line.  The  lower  lid  of  the  right  eye  was  drawn 
upward  and  twitched  with  a  swift  motion.  His  lips  were 
bloodless  and  ashen  in  hue.  He  was  trying  to  say  some- 
thing, but  could  only  give  utterance  to  a  frightful  mum- 
bling of  incoherent  sounds. 

The  picture  was  awful.  He  was  dressed  in  a  suit  of 
gray,  which  formed  a  dolorous  harmony  with  the  white 


264  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

hair  and  beard,  the  colorless  cheeks,  and  the  cadaverous 
ashiness  of  the  lips. 

His  eyes  had  changed,  but  had  not  grown  weaker.  On 
the  contrary,  they  had  become  stronger.  They  gleamed  with 
unmistakable  rage  and  defiance.  Helpless,  immovable  as 
if  bound  with  a  network  of  thongs,  his  glance  alone  gave 
signs  of  life.  He  seemed  like  some  powerful  animal 
suddenly  pierced  through  a  vital  part  by  the  spear  of  a 
hunter,  dead  save  as  to  his  eyes,  which  gleamed,  as  it  were, 
with  a  mortal  hatred  of  his  enemy. 

It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  he  had  encountered 
an  overmastering  hostile  force.  Used  to  command,  a 
potentate,  an  autocrat,  a  dictator,  he  had  in  an  instant  been 
met  by  a  foe  who,  in  a  single  lightning  and  unlooked-for 
blow,  had  reduced  him  to  impotence.  He  was  crushed, 
nervous,  helpless,  but  his  proud  nature  was  unconquered, 
and  his  glance  evinced  his  undaunted  courage. 

I  determined  at  once  to  take  him  to  Geneva,  only  a  short 
distance  away,  with  the  expectation  that  the  best  medical 
aid  could  be  obtained  at  that  point.  He  was  carried  down 
to  his  carriage  by  the  servants,  and  a  few  hours  later  was 
in  comfortable  apartments  in  a  hotel  at  Geneva. 

Very  strangely,  within  a  few  hours  he  began  to  show 
signs  of  partial  improvement.  He  was  able  to  move  his 
right  arm,  and  then  speak  in  a  manner  which,  with  extreme 
difficulty,  could  be  in  part  understood. 

The  line  of  the  trip,  as  originally  planned,  was  to  go 
south  into  Italy.  I  found  that  we  had  reached  Geneva  in 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  265 

advance  of  the  season.  It  was  very  cold  ;  I  could  find  no 
medical  man  of  prominence  in  the  city,  and  hence  I  con- 
cluded that  we  must  leave  there  for  some  other  point,  and  I 
proposed  that  we  should  at  once  go  to  Paris,  where  I  knew 
Brown-Sequard  to  be  at  that  time,  and  whose  medical  skill  I 
was  convinced  was  what  Mr.  Storey  needed.  He  was  very 
obstinate,  and  insisted  that  we  should  continue  on  the  pro- 
posed route  through  to  Italy.  Mrs.  Storey  insisted  that 
there  was  no  use  in  trying  to  convince  him  that  he  should 
go  to  Paris,  and  was  certain  that  he  would  die  if  we  carried 
out  the  original  programme. 

By  some  means  he  secured  a  couple  of  small  bottles  of 
brandy  during  the  absence  of  his  friends,  and,  considering 
his  paralyzed  condition,  succeeded  in  getting  into  a  ( '  how- 
come-you-so"  state  which  lasted  a  couple  of  days,  during 
which  he  more  than  ever  persistently  refused  to  go  to  Paris. 

A  curious  little  incident  occurred  in  reference  to  this 
brandy.  I  was  paymaster  of  the  trip,  paid  all  of  the  ex- 
penses, and  was  very  careful  to  secure  from  the  hotels  de- 
tailed bills  of  the  amounts  paid  out.  When  the  Geneva  bill 
was  made  out  it  contained  an  item  for  "deux  bouteilles 
fine  champagne."  The  items  were  all  in  French,  but  the 
eagle  eye  of  Mr.  Storey's  helpmate  caught  this  one,  and  she 
read  it  as  if  it  were  in  English,  and  raised  a  great  disturb- 
ance over  a  charge  for  champagne  when  none  had  been 
furnished,  not  knowing  that  "  fine  champagne  "  is  the  best 
grade  of  brandy. 

In  her  thrift  she  gained  the  impression  that  I  had  been 


266  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

drinking  champagne,  and  in  that  way  taking  an  unfair  ad- 
vantage in  the  expenditure  of  the  funds. 

I  finally  professed  to  be  willing  to  continue  the  journey 
to  Italy,  and  that  night  Mr.  Storey  was  carried  into  a 
sleeper  under  the  impression  that  we  were  going  south. 
Next  morning  found  us  in  Paris.  He  was  taken  in  a  car- 
riage and  driven  at  once  to  the  apartments  of  Judge  I,am- 
bert  Tree.  The  latter  came  down  to  the  sidewalk,  and 
when  Storey  saw  his  old  friend,  tears  came  into  his  eyes  — 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  so  far  as  I  know  —  and  the  old 
man  wept. 

Brown-Sequard  was  called,  who  said  that  Storey  would  not 
have  lived  a  week  had  he  gone  south  on  the  Italian  journey. 
He  prescribed  the  moxa  treatment,  and  further  said  that 
Mr.  Storey  should  immediately  be  sent  back  to  Chicago,  and 
that  he  should  embark  on  a  French  steamer  at  Havre,  in 
order  to  avoid  the  rough  passage  across  the  channel  to 
Dover.  The  tickets  held  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Storey  came  by 
Ivondon  and  returned  the  same  way.  To  have  returned  by 
Havre  might  have  endangered  the  loss  of  the  cost  of  the 
return  tickets,  and,  in  addition  to  this,  Mrs.  Storey  very 
naturally  wished  to  do  some  shopping,  with  the  result  that 
they  remained  in  Paris  several  weeks. 

Up  to  that  period,  from  the  time  we  left  L,ondon  until 
Storey  had  his  stroke  of  paralysis,  he  was  in  his  dominant 
mood  as  far  as  his  wife  was  concerned.  She  wished  to  go 
directly  from  I^ondon  to  Paris,  which  he  pooh-poohed.  At 
Brussels  she  wished  to  purchase  laces,  as  they  are  cheaper 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  267 

there  than  in  any  other  part  of  Europe.  This  desire  he 
overruled  with  contempt. 

During  the  time  that  he  was  confined  in  Paris,  his  dis- 
position entirely  changed.  His  autocratic  manner  disap- 
peared ;  he  became  as  humble  as  a  Uriah  Heap.  He  urged 
his  wife  to  buy  all  sorts  of  things  —  diamonds,  laces,  royal 
purple  dresses  —  and  to  expend  a  fortune  in  the  purchase  of 
luxuries  of  every  description. 

Storey  became  a  trifle  better  and  returned  to  Chicago. 
His  travels  did  not  then  end.  Some  time  later  he  entered 
a  region  of  darkness  where,  for  months,  blind,  imbecile, 
idiotic,  he  stumbled,  fell,  groping  through  God  knows  what 
obstacles  —  a  phase  of  his  life  that  will  be  treated  in  later 
chapters. 


XI. 

STORK Y'S  "MAUSOLEUM"  —ABOUT  MAKING  His 

THE  next  year  after  my  return  from  London  I  published  a 
collection  in  book  form  of  many  of  my  letters  from  the  Old 
World,  with  the  title  "Sketches  Beyond  the  Sea,"  for 
which  name  I  confess  my  indebtedness  to  Fred  Cook,  a 
former  well-known  Chicago  journalist,  and  now  a  resident 
of  the  city  of  New  York.  The  first  edition  was  sold  in 
advance  in  Chicago  by  subscription,  and  two  thousand 
copies  were  at  once  disposed  of. 

It  was,  in  1880,  put  into  the  hands  of  a  publishing  house 
who  claim  to  have  sold  about  30,000  copies.  The  plates  of 
the  work  were  destroyed  in  a  fire  which  consumed  the  book- 
house  engaged  in  its  publication. 

When  I  came  home  in  1878,  I  heard  that  Mr.  Storey  had 
begun  the  construction  of  a  residence  which  was  to  be  a 
model  of  its  kind,  the  finest  and  most  expensive  on  the  con- 
tinent. For  some  reason  he  never  said  anything  to  me 
about  this  building,  which,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  I  had 
taken  charge  of  all  building  operations  after  the  fire,  some- 
what astonished  me. 

One  day,  in  passing  along  Grand  Boulevard,  I  noticed,  on 
Vincennes  Avenue  and  Forty-Third  Street,  the  white 

268 


269  THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM. 

marble  walls  of  the  basement  of  the  structure.  Inspired 
by  an  idle  curiosity,  I  strolled  over  to  look  at  it,  and,  in 
five  minutes'  inspection,  saw  that  a  fraud  was  being  per- 
petrated in  the  work.  Many  of  the  slabs  were  inferior,  and 
there  were  serious  defects  in  the  foundations. 

I  reported  the  condition,  with  the  result  that  the  architect 
was  discharged,  a  large  portion  of  the  work  was  torn  down, 
and  rebuilt  in  a  different  manner  in  some  instances,  and  in 
different  material  in  others.  I  was  assigned,  at  intervals, 
to  supervise  the  landscaping  of  the  grounds  and  the  con- 
struction of  the  lodge.  These  duties  agreeably  diversified 
my  editorial  work  in  the  building  seasons  of  1879  and  '80. 

It  has  been  an  almost  world-wide  wonder  as  to  what 
induced  Mr.  Storey  to  erect  this  marvelous  structure.  It 
was  not  thought  of  till  he  had  married  the  third  Mrs. 
Storey,  and,  as  she  is  the  possessor  of  artistic  qualities,  it 
seems  probable  that  to  her  genius  was  due  the  inspiration 
to  build  a  palace. 

The  ' '  architect ' '  whom  they  selected  to  make  the  draw- 
ings of  the  house  had  been  a  ticket-peddler  at  Wood's 
Museum  in  old  days,  and,  beyond  being  able  to  draw  a 
pretty  picture,  had  no  capacity  as  a  designer.  Storey's 
varying  mental  condition  was  exhibited  as  the  mansion 
grew.  Again  and  again  were  changes  made  :  iron  was  sub- 
stituted for  wood  ;  the  conformation  of  rooms  was  radically 
altered  ;  in  fact,  the  work  of  construction  exhibited  all  the 
vagaries  of  a  person  laboring  under  some  form  of  dementia. 

That  the  building  of  this  preposterous  dwelling  injured 


270  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

his  mental  condition  ;  that  it  embarrassed  the  finances  of 
his  newspaper ;  that  it  hastened  his  death,  will  not  be 
doubted  by  those  who  were  familiar  with  the  inside  facts  of 
this  stupendous  folly. 

In  a  sense,  the  result  is  a  monstrosity.  It  is  a  Gothic 
structure  in  white  stone.  The  Gothic  is  an  ecclesiastic 
suggestion,  and  demands  the  grave  colors  in  harmony  with 
religious  ideas.  It  is  as  much  out  of  harmony  with  the 
intent  of  a  dwelling-house,  like  that  of  Mr.  Storey,  as  the 
thick  walls  of  a  prison  for  the  building  of  a  summer  arbor 
or  a  floral  conservatory.  Its  internal  divisions  are  con- 
tradictory, bizarre,  and  the  creation  of  whims  instead  of 
taste. 

The  incessant  and  costly  alterations,  the  rascality  of  some 
of  those  who  were  engaged  in  the  building,  made  the  struct- 
ure more  than  twice  as  expensive  as  it  should  have  been. 

The  old  gentleman  was  in  the  habit  of  driving  out  to  the 
house  every  fair  day  in  summer.  He  worshiped  the  gleam- 
ing pile  of  marble.  He  was  so  infirm  that  to  get  in  and 
out  of  his  carriage  was  a  slow,  tedious,  painful  operation. 
With  feebleness  paralyzing  his  limbs,  he  firmly  believed, 
that  he  would  live  to  move  into  the  palace,  and  to  enjoy 
it  for  many  years.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  citing  Commo- 
dore Vanderbilt  as  an  example  which  he  would  likely 
imitate. 

Vanderbilt  had  no  Portland  and  Speed's  blocks,  with 
their  licentious,  impairing  and  debauched  experiences,  in 
his  career.  He  had  not,  in  youth  and  manhood,  overdrawn 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  271 

the  funds  stored  to  his  credit  for  his  old  age  in  the  bank  of 
health. 

At  sixty  years  of  age,  Storey  was  a  far  older  man  than 
Vanderbilt  at  eighty. 

He  was  disappointed  in  his  dream  of  occupying  the 
palatial  marble  dwelling,  and  if  there  was  a  feminine  in- 
fluence which  stimulated  him  to  undertake  the  work,  it,  too, 
encountered  a  wretched  defeat.  It  was  all  around  a  fraud, 
a  monstrosity,  a  ruinous  waste  of  money,  a  frightful  humili- 
ation, a  disgraceful  failure. 

One  day,  in  1880,  he  drove  out  to  the  "  Mausoleum,"  as  I 
had  facetiously  nicknamed  the  structure.  It  was  one  of  his 
bad  days  ;  his  face  was  pinched  as  if  with  suffering,  his 
eyes  had  sunk  in  their  sockets  and  were  dull  and  troubled, 
and  his  voice  was  tremulous. 

He  descended  from  his  carriage  and  stood  leaning  heavily 
on  his  cane.  To  the  left  was  the  glittering  marble  pile  ;  to 
the  front  the  beautiful  grounds  reached  across  to  Grand 
Boulevard,  and  in  the  distance  extended  the  broad  highway 
with  its  double  line  of  trees,  and  alongside  of  it  masses  of 
green  woodlands,  revealing  here  and  there,  through  vistas, 
and  above  their  tops,  the  gables  and  roofs  of  stately  resi- 
dences. 

The  contrast  between  all  this  growth,  strength,  beauty 
and  freshness,  and  his  own  condition,  pale,  feeble,  aged, 
seemed  to  attract  his  pained  attention.  His  head  was  bowed 
with  an  expression  of  profound  dejection. 

A  few  days  before  this  Judge  Lambert  Tree  had  said  to  me: 


272  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

"  Can't  you  induce  Storey  to  make  his  will  ?  He  is  in  a 
most  wretched  condition,  and  if  he  don't  take  some  action 
soon,  it  will  be  too  late. ' ' 

Acting  on  this  suggestion,  I  spoke  to  Mr.  Storey,  saying : 

' '  Here  is  all  this  beautiful  property,  and  your  newspaper, 
which,  in  case  anything  should  happen  to  you,  would  be 
divided,  and  liable  to  become  a  wrreck.  Don't  you  think  it 
would  be  best  for  you  to  make  a  will  to  provide  for  the  con- 
solidation and  perpetuation  of  your  interests  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes,  you're  right.     I  will  make  one." 

"  I  hope  the  newspaper  will  not  be  neglected." 

"  No ;  I  have  a  plan  that  I  will  carry  into  effect  right 
away." 

And  then,  in  a  low,  quavering  voice,  he  outlined  his  de- 
termination. He  said : 

' '  I  intend  to  perpetuate  the  Times. ' '  His  utterance  was 
low,  almost  indistinct  at  times  ;  his  ideas  were  confused. 
He  talked  as  if  he  were  half-soliloquizing,  or  addressing 
some  invisible  presence  in  his  immediate  vicinity.  The  re- 
mainder of  what  he  said,  as  near  as  I  could  catch  it,  was  : 

"  I  intend  to  provide  that,  after  my  death,  the  Times 
shall  continue  under  a  board  of  management,  in  which  you 
shall  have  a  commanding  position.  The  profits  will  be 
divided  among  my  heirs  up  to  a  certain  specified  amount, 
and  the  rest  given  to  worthy  charities." 

Once  or  twice  afterwards,  I  called  his  attention  to  the 
matter  and  inferred  from  his  replies  that  he  still  had  the 
project  under  consideration. 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          273 

This  reply  of  the  weak,  trembling  old  man  was  very  differ- 
ent from  one  he  had  made  me  some  years  before  when  I  spoke 
to  him  on  the  same  subject,  when  he  felt  himself  strong  and 
was  filled  with  self-reliance.  It  was  at  a  period  when  his 
head  jostled  the  stars  that  I  said  to  him  : 

"  Mr.  Storey,  you  are  childless,  and  there  is  no  blood 
relative  of  your  name  worthy  to  inherit  your  great  name, 
your  fortune  or  your  journal.  Your  friends  are  anxious 
that  you  should  make  such  a  disposition  of  your  newspaper 
that  it  will  go  on  forever. ' ' 

"  There  is  no  hurry  about  it !  I'm  only  fifty-six.  Van- 
derbilt  is  over  eighty.  Look  at  Gladstone  !  He  must  be 
nearly  or  quite  seventy,  and  he  is  as  good  as  he  ever  was  ! 
Look  at  John  Bright !  ' ' 

((  Of  course  I  didn't  speak  of  it  because  I  think  you  are 
liable  to  give  out.  You  are  good  for  another  generation, 
but  the  point  is  that  now,  while  your  health  is  superb,  your 
brain  at  its  best,  and  all  your  faculties  unimpaired,  is  the 
very  best  time  to  devise  and  mature  a  plan  for  the  perpetua- 
tion of  the  great  institution  you  have  erected." 

Storey  was  silent  for  a  minute,  and  then  there  came  a 
flush  into  his  face,  his  eyes  flamed,  and,  in  a  voice  firm  and 
vibrating,  he  said : 

"I  don't  wish  to  perpetuate  my  newspaper.  I  am  the 
paper  !  I  wish  it  to  die  with  me  so  that  the  world  may 
know  that  I  was  the  Times  !  ' ' 

That  this  egotism  was  in  the  nature  of  a  prophecy  will 


$74  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

not  be  doubted  by  any  one  who  is  familiar  with  what  has 
since  taken  place. 

There  was  a  touch  of  the  sublime  in  this  assertion,  an  un- 
conscious repetition  of  the  haughty  saying  of  the  French 
monarch,  "  L'etat^  c'est  moi!  " 


XII. 
WANDERINGS  IN  INDIAN  TERRITORY. 

IN  April,  1880,  I  started  out,  as  the  representative  of  the 
Times,  for  the  purpose  of  making  an  extended  trip  through 
certain  parts  of  the  West  and  Southwest.  As  it  was  laid 
out,  it  included  the  entrance  to  the  Indian  Territory, 
through  the  Cherokee  country,  thence  through  the  land 
of  the  Creeks,  the  Sacs  and  Foxes,  and  the  Pottawat- 
tomies,  thence  north  to  Denver,  to  Leadville,  to  the  Gunni- 
son,  through  the  Ute  country,  and  west  of  the  Klk  Moun- 
tains to  a  point  on  the  Union  Pacific  Railway. 

It  was  expected  that  the  trip  would  occupy  several 
months,  but  about  one-third  of  the  last  end  was  not  com- 
pleted, owing  to  the  fact  that  the  passes  through  the  Ute 
region  were  blocked  with  snow,  which  would  not  be  melted 
before  the  middle  of  July. 

I  spent  several  weeks  in  Indian  Territory  among  the 
Creeks,  Cherokees,  Choctaws  and  other  Indian  tribes,  and 
saw  much  of  novelty  and  interest.  Some  of  the  incidents, 
scenery,  and  one  or  two  other  things  that  came  under  my 
observation  may  be  presented  with  profit. 

While  at  the  agency  of  the  Sac  and  Fox  Indians,  whose 
reservation  lies  west  of  the  Creek  country,  I  was  invited  by 

275 


276  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

one  of  the  post  traders,  a  Mr.  Gibbs,  to  dine  with  him  for 
the  purpose  of  meeting  some  notabilities.  There  were  seven 
or  eight  at  the  table,  among  whom  was  a  full-blooded  chief, 
Wawkomo,  a  man  about  forty  years  of  age.  He  was 
garbed  in  complete  Indian  costume. 

A  rich  Mackinaw  blanket  of  blue  was  belted  around  his 
waist,  and  covered  the  lower  portion  of  his  frame  like  a 
petticoat,  or  something  rather  like  the  kilt  of  a  Highlander. 
Below  this  garment  were  to  be  seen  handsome,  well-fitting 
leggings,  elaborately  fringed,  and  on  his  shapely  feet 
beautifully  beaded  moccasins.  His  torso  was  covered  with 
a  highly-colored  calico  shirt,  so  opened  at  the  throat  as  to 
display  a  considerable  portion  of  his  dark  and  muscular 
chest.  Around  his  neck  was  a  string  of  wampum  made  of 
shells  strung  on  a  cord,  and  whose  actual  value,  owing  to 
its  great  length  and  the  scarcity  of  the  material  of  which  it 
was  composed,  was,  I  was  assured  by  those  who  knew,  very 
great. 

He  had  a  half  dozen  or  more  heavy  German  silver  rings 
on  the  fingers  of  both  hands,  and  bracelets  of  the  same 
material  on  his  wrists  and  above  his  elbows.  His  forehead 
was  shaved  well  back  to  the  crown,  but  diverging  as  it 
went,  to  leave  a  promontory  on  the  very  summit  which  was 
gathered  into  a  long  queue  and  very  carefully  braided. 
The  ends  of  this  tail  were  tied  with  gay,  parti-colored  rib- 
bons, decorated  with  feathers  from  the  wing  of  an  eagle, 
and  a  very  handsome  silver  ornament,  curiously  chased  and 
almost  as  large  as  a  saucer. 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  277 

Krect  as  a  statue  was  the  chief,  broad  as  to  shoulder,  and 
mighty  as  to  torso  and  thighs.  His  complexion  was  not  at 
all  the  customary  coppery  hue ;  a  pronounced  swarthiness 
seemed  ingrained  in  its  application.  The  top  of  the  head, 
where  the  hair  was  cut  away,  was  decorated  with  patches 
of  vermilion,  and  the  same  rich  tint  was  applied  to  each 
cheek.  He  was  neither  over-dressed  nor  over-painted.  In 
his  way  he  was  as  faultlessly  made  up  as  the  most  fastidious 
lounger  in  the  French  capital.  He  was,  in  fact,  one  of  the 
handsomest  specimens  of  manhood  that  I  ever  saw.  He  was 
a  most  harmonious  symphony  in  age,  features,  dress,  stature, 
facial  expression  and  surroundings. 

Wawkomo  had  been  standing  around  the  store  for  an  hour 
or  so  in  various  picturesque  attitudes,  and  without  any  other 
sign  of  life  than  the  exchange  of  an  occasional  grunt  with  the 
interpreter  —  a  melancholy  half-breed,  whose  Indian  origin 
was  indicated  by  his  coarse  black  hair,  his  general  reticence 
and  a  very  bright  cord  around  the  crown  of  his  broad- 
brimmed  slouch  hat.  Somebody  announced  dinner.  The  in- 
terpreter flung  a  guttural  monosyllable  at  the  chief,  who  fell 
into  the  procession  that  filed  out  of  the  store  and  into  the 
dining-room  at  the  trader's  house. 

Mr.  Gibbs  was  a  very  swell  post-trader,  which  was  seen  in 
the  fact  that  there  were  napkins,  and  a  dinner  in  courses,  led 
by  the  regulation  soup.  Wawkomo  took  the  seat  next  to  me, 
and  thereupon  I  anticipated  that  some  odd  developments 
would  take  place  when  this  magnificent  savage  undertook  to 
eat  at  a  civilized  table. 


278  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

My  anticipations  were  totally  wrecked.  The  chief  seated 
himself  with  the  dignity  of  a  Roman  senator,  unfolded  his 
napkin,  sipped  his  soup  without  noise,  carved  his  meat, 
masticated  it  silently,  and,  in  short,  exhibited  all  the  man- 
ners of  a  well-bred  gentleman.  During  the  dinner  he  never 
spoke. 

' '  Does  Wawkomo  live  with  his  tribe  ?  "  I  asked  of  my 
vis-a-vis. 

"  Yes  ;  why  ?  "  was  answered. 

' '  Because  he  has  all  the  manners  of  a  gentleman  at  the 
table.     I  supposed  he  would  '  gobble '  things  Indian  fashion. ' ' 
"Yes,  he  gets  on  nicely." 

' '  Where  did  he  pick  up  his  knowledge  of  napkins,  spoons, 
and  other  et  ceteras  of  civilization  ?  ' ' 

"  He  did  it  just  as  well  the  first  time  he  sat  down  at  the 
table.  The  Indians  are  very  observing  and  see  everything, 
although  they  appear  to  see  nothing.  He  saw  how  others 
did  and  then  followed  their  example." 

* '  Well,  he  is  the  most  finished  chap  in  blanket,  leggings 
and  scalp-lock  that  I  ever  saw  or  heard  of.  He  beats  Coop- 
er's copper-colored  heroes  all  out  of  sight." 

Wawkomo  apparently  never  paid  the  slightest  attention 
to  this  conversation  or  to  a  good  deal  more  of  the  same 
import.  When  he  returned  to  the  store,  I  pulled  out  a 
pouch  of  smoking- tobacco,  and  touched  him  on  the  arm, 
saying  to  the  interpreter  : 

* '  Please  tell  the  chief  to  try  some  of  this  tobacco.  He 
will  find  it  as  fine  as  the  finest  he  has  ever  smoked." 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  279 

The  interpreter  said  something  to  him  in  the  Indian 
tongue  ;  he  filled  his  pipe,  lighted  it,  took  several  puffs,  and 
said  in  perfect  English  : 

"  Good  tobacco  !     You're  from  Chicago." 

Had  some  one  hit  me  with  a  club  I  would  have  been  no 
more  astonished. 

' '  You  speak  English  ?  "  I  stammered. 

' '  Yes,  a  little, ' '  he  replied,  with  a  face  as  immobile  as  a 
brass  clock. 

I  learned  later  that  the  chief  understands  well  and  speaks 
fairly  the  English  language,  although  he  is  averse  to  using 
it  unless  it  is  absolutely  necessary. 

At  the  same  agency  I  was  talking  with  the  superinten- 
dent, when  there  came  into  view  a  long  string  of  Indians  on 
ponies.  In  the  case  of  each  there  was  a  quarter  of  fresh 
beef  on  the  back  of  the  pony,  which  was  used  by  the  rider 
as  a  saddle,  on  which  he  or  she  rode  astride.  They  were 
blanket  Indians  and  as  gorgeous  as  a  rainbow.  There  were 
wrinkled,  white-haired  old  bucks,  able-bodied  young  men, 
who  rode  their  ponies  like  Centaurs, .  and  now  and  then  a 
boy  who  clung  to  the  beef  like  a  monkey.  Among  them 
was  a  squaw  to  whom  the  agent  directed  my  attention. 

"Do  you  see  that  squaw?"  pointing  to  a  woman  who 
rode  on  a  saddle  of  gory  beef,  and  who  sat  like  a  statue, 
looking  straight  before  her  as  if  seeing  nothing. 

1  'That  particularly  dirty  one  who  looks  as  if  she  were 
dreaming?" 


280  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

"Yes,  that  one.  Very  homely,  isn't  she?  About  the 
hardest-looking  specimen  in  the  lot,  hey  ?  ' ' 

"Quite  so,  I  think." 

'  *  To  look  at  her  you  would  be  likely  to  think  that  she 
was  some  old  hag,  mean,  savage,  bloodthirsty,  and  all  that, 
wouldn't  you? " 

"Yes,  that  is  about  it." 

1 '  Well,  you  are  right  in  some  points.  She  is  dirty,  blood- 
thirsty, and  would  drive  a  knife  into  you  with  just  as  little 
compunction  as  she  would  slice  off  a  chunk  of  that  beef. 
But  she  isn't  old  ;  she  isn't  ignorant.  She  speaks  English 
as  well  as  you  or  I ;  not  only  that,  she  speaks  French  and 
Spanish.  She  is  a  fine  pianist  and  can  sing  like  an  artiste" 

"You  are  trying  to  play  a  joke  on  me,  I  take  it." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind.     It  is  all  as  true  as  Holy  Writ." 

"  Be  good  enough  to  explain." 

"I  will.  Several  years  ago  that  squaw,  then  a  young 
girl,  was  sent  to  a  school  in  Kansas.  She  developed  extraor- 
dinary abilities  as  a  student.  She  became  an  excellent 
linguist  and  musician.  There  was  a  young  white  divinity 
student  in  another  school  at  the  same  town  with  whom  she 
fell  in  love.  He  did  not  respond.  Humiliated,  despairing, 
she  left  the  school,  went  back  to  the  tribe,  selected  and 
married  one  of  the  most  disreputable  old  bucks  in  the  reser- 
vation, and  became  the  creature  that  you  just  saw.  Never 
since  she  came  back  has  she  spoken  a  word  of  English." 

The  Indian  ladies  demand  some  notice.  The  Cherokee 
women  are  very  shy  and  retiring  ;  some  of  the  young  girls 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  281 

are  stylish,  refined  and  attractive,  more  especially  those  with 
an  admixture  of  white  blood — just  enough  to  lower  the 
high  cheek-bones  and  erase  the  darker  shades  of  the  com- 
plexion. I  saw  several  of  these  in  Tahlequah  —  the  Chero- 
kee capital — who  were  dressed  in  fashionable  style,  and 
who  were  really  very  charming  in  their  manner  and  appear- 
ance. 

The  Creek  women  are  of  another  breed.  The  majority  of 
them  have  a  half  or  a  quarter  negro  blood  —  a  cross  that  is 
not  conducive  to  symmetry  of  form  or  refinement  of  feature. 
I  was  the  guest  for  two  days  and  nights  of  a  Creek  notable, 
being  delayed  by  a  flood-swollen  ford.  His  possessions  con- 
sisted of  four  or  five  log  houses,  which  were  tumbling  down 
from  neglect.  In  front  was  the  stream  we  were  waiting  to 
cross  ;  behind  was  a  ragged  clearing  of  some  ten  acres, 
devoted  to  the  growing  of  corn,  all  beyond  which  was 
dense  timber. 

The  owner  was  a  burly  negro  —  who  called  himself  a 
Creek  —  of  about  three-score  years,  with  a  razeed  "plug" 
hat  which  must  have  been  a  remnant  of  the  Noachic  age  ; 
a  shirt  and  trousers  of  the  color  of  the  soil,  and  made  up  of 
innumerable  patches  that  seemed  to  have  been  fastened 
together  with  a/  thread  about  the  thickness  of  a  clothes-line. 

He  was  a  sooty  old  sultan  with  an  extensive  harem.  He 
had  a  wife  or  two  in  each  of  the  log  cabins,  and  in  other 
convenient  places  ;  a  supply  of  odalisques  to  meet  the  neces- 
sities of  the  situation.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  and 
conversing  with  three  or  four  of  them,  and  of  securing  dis- 


282  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

solving  views  of  some  of  the  others.  The  most  conspicuous 
of  them  was  a  full-blooded  negress,  who  was  over  six  feet 
in  height  and  nearly  the  same  in  breadth.  Her  lips  were 
enormous  flaps  of  flesh,  and  her  misshapen  feet  huge  as 
those  of  an  elephant.  Her  great  jowls  hung  down  like 
hams,  and  her  nostrils  were  two  capacious  openings  like  the 
entrances  to  great  caverns. 

Another  of  these  spouses  was  a  full-blooded  Creek  with  a 
mere  trace  of  a  forehead,  coarse  hair,  in  texture  like  the 
mane  of  a  horse,  and  which  fell  down  around  her  face  and 
shoulders  as  if  she  had  been  abroad  bare-headed,  buffeted  in 
a  gale ;  protruding  cheek-bones,  and  a  chin  and  jaw  as 
broad  and  square  as  those  of  a  prize-fighter.  Her  single 
garment  was  of  calico,  streaked  with  grease  and  gore,  and 
she  had  neither  shoes  nor  stockings. 

She  was  seated  on  a  stump,  her  heels  raised,  her  toes 
inturned,  the  wind  occasionally  revealing  considerable  areas 
of  her  dusky  skin.  She  sat  thus,  stolid,  immovable,  impas- 
sive, gazing  at  me  with  eyes  that  did  not  seem  to  wink,  and 
at  intervals  squirting,  with  a  robust  ' '  whish, ' '  a  stream  of 
ink-colored  tobacco  juice  through  an  opening  where  there  had 
once  been  teeth. 

There  was  a  third,  a  weazened,  skinny  woman,  some 
forty  years  of  age,  who  waited  on  us  at  the  table,  who 
seemed  the  bad  result  of  a  combination  of  a  demoralized 
Indian  and  an  inferior  negro.  In  the  rear  of  the  main 
cabin  two  dark-hued  women  with  disheveled  hair  stood 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  283 

over  a  mortar,  dug  out  of  an  upturned  stump,  and  with 
wooden  pestles  pounded  a  grist  of  corn. 

At  Muscogee,  when  I  came  to  the  "tavern,"  I  asked  the 
landlord  where  I  should  register. 

"  I  don't  keep  any  book,"  he  replied, 

"You  don't?     Why  not?" 

"  Because  it  ain't  none  of  my  business  who  comes  and 
goes.  I  tend  strictly  to  my  own  concerns." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  a  good  many  visitors  who  wouldn't 
care  to  leave  their  names  along  the  line  of  travel  ? ' ' 

"  I  reckon  so."     And  we  dropped  the  conversation. 

From  some  information  that  I  picked  up  at  a  later  day,  I 
learned  that  strangers  visiting  the  country  were  liable  to 
disappear  now  and  then.  On  this  account,  to  prevent  trac- 
ing them,  no  registry  was  kept  of  strangers  who  were  on 
their  way  to  the  interior  of  the  country.  Later  in  my  jour- 
ney opportunity  was  offered  me  to  recall  this  custom  under 
circumstances  which  made  the  recollection  a  decidedly  un- 
pleasant one. 

At  Ocmulgee,  the  Creek  capital,  I  was  furnished  with  a 
new  driver,  of  whom  my  first  most  intimate  knowledge  was 
through  my  organ  of  smell.  There  was  a  pungent,  pole-cat 
odor  about  him  that  was  penetrating  and  abominable.  I 
soon  learned  from  him  that  his  business  was  skunk-catching 
when  he  had  no  other  occupation.  Imagine  a  journey  of 
two  days  in  the  company  of  this  redolent  person  !  He  was 
a  man  of  about  forty  years  of  age,  with  a  thin  face,  a  re- 


284  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

treating  jaw,  a  tuft  of  hair  on  his  chin,  while  a  cascade  of 
tow-colored  hair  fell  far  down  his  shoulders. 

'  *  What  is  your  business  ?  "  I  asked  after  I  had  looked 
him  over. 

"Waal,  I  raise  a  little  corn,  but  I  ginerally  buy  a  few 
hides  and  furs  among  the  Ingins. ' ' 

1 '  What  kind  do  you  buy  ?  Many  skunk  skins,  for  in- 
stance?" 

"  Yep  ;  heaps  of  skunk." 

' '  I  thought  so.  Is  there  as  much  money  as  there  is  smell 
in  handling  pole-cats  ? ' ' 

"  I  make  some  days  as  high  as  two  or  three  dollars." 

My  ill-smelling  driver  was  very  reticent  at  the  outset,  but 
in  time  became  fluent,  even  to  the  extent  of  garrulity.  He 
was  a  white  man  from  the  States  who  had  married  a  Chero- 
kee woman  —  no  white  man  ever  admits  marrying  a  Creek  — 
and  was  a  full  member  of  the  tribe.  Once  he  discoursed  as 
follows  : 

"  A  white  man  hain't  got  any  more  show  in  this  part  of 
the  territory  than  a  cat  in  hell  without  claws.  Over  there, ' ' 
jerking  his  whip  in  the  direction  of  the  southwest,  "  there 
was  two  skeletons  of  a  man  and  a  boy  found  last  week, 
with  both  their  skulls  broke  in,  and  nobody  knows  where 
they  are  from  and  who  they  are.  Almost  every  day  a  body 
is  found  in  some  slough  or  stream,  and  all  that's  known 
about  them  is  that,  from  the  shape  of  the  skulls,  they  are 
white  men." 

And  then,  for  interminable  odorous  hours,  he  proceeded 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  285 

to  relate  incidents  of  horrible  murders  which  he  knew,  as 
well  as  the  names  of  the  victims  and  their  assassins.  My 
blood  seemed  to  shrink  in  my  veins,  and  cold  chills  crept 
up  and  down  my  spine,  till  I  wished  the  Creek  country  to 
the  devil. 

It  was  then  that  I  recalled  with  a  shock  the  refusal  of  the 
landlords  at  Muscogee  and  Ocmulgee  to  permit  their  guests 
to  register  their  names,  residences  or  destinations.  Not  a 
soul  at  either  place  knew  my  name  ;  I  might  be  shot, 
dragged  into  some  thicket,  and  it  would  be  several  weeks 
before  my  silence  would  attract  attention.  Then  no  inquiry 
would  reveal  the  point  at  which  I  had  entered  the  Creek 
region,  and  the  end  would  be  one  of  those  "mysterious  dis- 
appearances ' '  that  are  so  often  recorded  in  the  newspapers. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "the  thing  is  jest  hyar.  The 
Cherokee  paper  never  says  anything  about  these  killings,  so 
the  world  don't  get  to  know  of  'em.  Ef  it's  a  white  man 
that  is  killed  they  are  dog-gonned  glad  of  it,  and  hyar's 
another  thing  :  Hf  one  man  shoots  another,  no  matter  how 
bad  a  murder  it  may  be,  no  one  dast  say  anything  about  it. 
Trouble  is,  no  man  will  be  a  witness,  'cause  he  knows  that 
ef  he  sw'ars  agin  a  man,  he  has  got  to  leave  the  country  on 
the  jump,  or  else  he  gets  a  charge  of  buckshot  in  his  back. 
He's  got  to  hustle  when  he  leaves  the  place  whar  the  trial 
is  held,  or  they  load  him  up  with  buckshot  when  he  passes 
the  first  timber." 


XIII. 
EMPLOYMENT  OF  WOMEN. 

THE  Times,  from  the  beginning,  under  the  management 
of  Mr.  Storey,  was  fairly  liberal  in  the  employment  of 
women.  The  first  one  engaged  was  early  in  the  sixties, 
when  Miss  Sarah  Cahill,  a  young  lady  living  in  Faribault, 
Minn.,  was  given  piece  work.  She  covered  a  vast  amount 
of  ground,  having  a  marvelous  versatility,  handling  innum- 
erable topics  with  graceful  delicacy.  She  became  the  wife 
of  a  Texan,  Col.  Worthington,  who  soon  after  left  her  a 
widow,  with  one  child,  a  boy,  now  a  young  man. 

Some  years  after  closing  her  connection  with  the  Times 
as  a  resident  of  Chicago,  "she  resumed  it  as  its  corre- 
spondent from  St.  Paul,  which  position  she  held  for  several 
years.  She  has  been  always  a  liberal  contributor  to  St.  Paul 
journalism,  and  even  yet  wields  a  pen  that  has  lost  none  of 
its  earlier  point  and  delicacy  of  touch. 

Miss  Anna  Kerr,  a  young  lady  of  Scotch  origin,  was  for 
many  years  the  librarian  and  book-reviewer.  She  was  im- 
mensely popular  with  the  force  on  the  Times,  and  when 
she  suddenly  sickened  with  quick  consumption  and  died, 
she  was  mourned  as  if  she  were  a  younger  and  favorite  sis- 
ter. 

286 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          287 

For  a  time,  Mrs.  C.  W.  Romney,  when  she  was  Miss 
Caroline  Wescott,  had  charge  of  the  books,  and  proved  her- 
self a  painstaking  and  hard-working  employe.  Her  advent- 
ures since  she  left  the  Times  would  fill  a  volume  the  size 
of  a  Webster's  unabridged  dictionary.  Her  first  effort, 
after  leaving  the  Times,  was  the  institution  of  a  ladies' 
walking-match,  a  la  Dan  O'l^eary,  in  which  she  brought 
into  prominence  Bertha  Von  Hillern,  a  capital  ' '  walkist, ' ' 
and  who  has  since  attained  distinction  in  other  directions. 

Miss  Wescott  next  turned  her  attention  to  real  estate,  and 
opened  an  office  on  Dearborn  Street. 

She  then  tried  the  far  West,  marrying  Mr.  John  Romney, 
who  soon  left  her  a  widow.  She  began  operations  at  I+ead- 
ville  in  its  booming  days,  canvassed  for  advertisements, 
wrote  for  the  newspapers,  dealt  in  mining  stocks,  was  editor  of 
a  Durango  newspaper,  in  Colorado,  and,  after  a  trip  or  two 
'.o  Kurope  to  place  some  mining  securities,  she  settled  down 
in  her  old  home,  Chicago,  and  is  now  in  charge  of  a  trade 
journal. 

Miss  Marian  Mulligan,  the  daughter  of  Col.  James  Mulli- 
gan, was,  for  a  time,  literary  editress,  and,  although  young, 
she  performed  her  duties  with  all  the  judgment  of  a  veteran. 

Miss  Margaret  Buchanan,  now  Mrs.  Alexander  Sullivan, 
was  connected  with  the  Times,  both  before  and  after  her  mar- 
riage, mainly  in  an  editorial  capacity.  I  need  not  dwell 
on  her  marvelous  intellectual  ability  ;  she  is  too  well  known 
to  need  eulogy.  I  will  only  say  of  her  that  I  regard  her  as 
the  ablest  woman  in  the  United  States. 


288  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

For  many  years,  over  the  signature  of  "  Cameo,"  Mrs. 
Longstreet-Smith  acted  as  the  New  York  correspondent  of 
the  Times. 

Mrs.  Maria  Storey,  between  the  date  of  the  separation 
from  Mr.  Storey  and  the  divorce,  contributed  many  bright 
articles  to  the  Times.  She  always  sent  them  to  me,  and  I 
turned  them  over  to  Mr.  Storey,  who  never  failed  to  have 
them  published.  She  used  no  signature,  but  he  must,  of 
course,  have  known  from  the  handwriting  who  was  the 
author. 

Miss  Agnes  Leonard,  in  the  '6o's,  was  frequently  repre- 
sented in  the  columns  of  the  paper  in  poetical  and  high- 
grade  compositions.  She  is  now,  and  has  been  since  her 
connection  with  the  Times,  dependent  on  her  pen  for  sup- 
port. She  is  now  Mrs.  Agnes  Leonard  Hill,  having  been 
married  to  Mr.  Hill  soon  after  the  fire  of  1871. 

Perhaps  the  most  sprightly,  vivacious  and  piquant 
feminine  contributor  the  Times  ever  had  is  Blanche 
Tucker,  at  present  Madame  Blanche  Roosevelt  Machetta 
d'Algeri,  singer,  authoress,  and,  withal,  the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  Europe. 

Blanche  was  a  poor  girl,  living  in  Chicago  at  the  time  of 
the  great  fire,  and  escaped  with  but  a  single  garment.  She 
was  passionately  devoted  to  music,  and  finally  succeeded  in 
getting  one  of  the  Washburnes  of  Wisconsin  to  send  her  to 
Europe,  .with  the  understanding  that  he  was  to  allow  her 
fifty  dollars  a  month  for  half  a  year,  the  allowance  to  be 
continued  if  she  gave  promise  of  success. 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  289 

At  the  end  of  that  time  Washburne  withdrew  his  support, 
and  then  I  took  up  her  case,  and  organized  a  club  here  in 
Chicago,  composed  among  others  of  Judge,  then  Mr.  Egbert 
Jamieson,  Tom  Brenan  and  Dan  O'Hara,  supplying  a  total 
of  fifty  dollars  a  month. 

When  she  was  about  to  leave  for  New  York,  I  said  to  her 
among  other  things : 

' '  Write  to  me  often  about  whatever  strikes  your  fancy  : 
men,  women,  fashion,  art,  music,  theaters  ;  in  fine,  anything, 
everything  that  interests  you.  Your  voice  as  a  singer  may 
fail,  and  then  you  can  fall  back  on  your  pen  ! ' ' 

She  had  had  but  little  schooling,  and  her  first  letters, 
while  they  had  abundance  of  snap,  fancy  and  promise, 
were  crude,  ungrammatical,  badly  spelled,  and,  in  many 
instances,  undecipherable.  But  her  improvement  was  rapid. 
Her  English,  her  grammar,  her  form  of  expression,  her 
observation,  all  became  of  a  better  quality,  and  the  Times 
began  to  use  her  correspondence. 

For  many  years  she  wrote  weekly  letters  from  London, 
Paris  and  Milan,  which  were  filled  with  musical  and  art 
gossip,  racy  personal  characterizations,  and  replete  with 
nice  touches  of  humor  and  ironical  delineations. 

She  made  a  successful  debut  at  Covent  Garden  Opera- 
house  under  Gye,  but  her  health  gave  out,  and  after  a  long 
struggle  she  gave  up  music,  and  fell  back  on  her  pen. 
Her  books  are  numerous  and  as  a  rule  successful.  She  has 
written  and  published  "The  Home-Life  of  Longfellow;" 
"Marked  in  Haste,"  a  society  novel;  "The  Copper 


290  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

Queen,"  also  a  society  novel,  a  considerable  portion  of 
Which  is  located  in  Chicago,  and  which  includes  many  inci- 
dents connected  with  the  great  fire. 

Her  most  successful  work  is  her  "  I^ife  of  Gustave  Dorer," 
which  has  been  translated  into  half  a  dozen  different  lan- 
guages. 

Her  last  work,  "Verdi,  Milan  and  Otello,"  I  believe  to 
be  one  of  the  very  best  of  her  literary  productions. 

She  was  married  in  1877,  in  Chelsea,  L,ondon,  to  August 
Machetta,  a  very  handsome  young  Italian,  the  son  of  the 
general  director  of  the  Italian  system  of  telegraphs.  Her 
mother  and  one  of  her  sisters  and  a  few  American  friends 
were  present  at  the  ceremony.  On  me  devolved  the  honor 
of  acting  as  the  guardian  of,  and  giving  away,  the  bride. 

One  of  her  most  valuable  books  is  entitled  :  * '  She  Would 
be  an  Opera-Singer. "  It  is  a  record  of  her  own  experi- 
ences, and  presents  in  a  graphic  and  most  realistic  style  the 
trials,  sufferings,  vexations,  mortifications,  the  arduous 
labors,  and  all  the  rest,  that  make  up  the  life  of  an  aspirant 
for  honors  on  the  lyric  stage. 

Madam  Machetta  has  had  an  eventful  life.  Longfellow's 
"  Pandora  "  was  set  to  music  for  her  benefit,  and  brought 
out  as  an  opera  in  New  York.  She  traveled  for  a  time 
with  Gilbert,  the  composer,  and  created  for  his  operas  the 
leading  feminine  rdles. 

She  has  the  entree  of  the  best  social  circles  of  Kurope. 
She  speaks  half  a  dozen  languages  with  fluency  and  cor- 
rectness. Her  life  is  a  romance. 


PART  THREE. 
I. 

ANOTHER  TRIP  ABROAD. 

I  RETURNED  from  the  old  country  in  the  autumn  of  1878, 
and  resumed  my  connection  with  the  Times.  Young  J.  E. 
Chamberlin,  who  had  been  acting  for  a  year  or  so  as  man- 
aging editor,  failed  in  health,  and  was  succeeded  by  Clinton 
A.  Snowden,  who  for  some  years  had  been  city  editor. 
This  change  took  place  near  the  close  of  1880. 

Snowden  was  a  young  man  as  ambitious  as  he  was  huge 
in  bulk  and  immense  in  stature.  He  determined  to  make 
the  Times  the  { l  biggest  thing ' '  on  the  continent.  Mr. 
Storey's  mental  balance  was  somewhat  unsettled,  and  he 
listened  with  avidity  to  the  solicitations  of  his  enthusiastic 
lieutenant.  The  number  of  the  pages  was  to  be  increased  ; 
the  news  was  to  be  doubled  in  quantity,  and  improved  in 
quality.  The  (<  Old  Man  "  was  delighted,  and  entered  into 
the  scheme  with  his  whole  soul. 

I  took  advantage  of  this  favorable  condition  of  feeling  to 
state  to  Mr.  Storey  that  no  first-class  journal  could  be  es- 
tablished without  a  European  bureau.  The  suggestion 

291 


292  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

caught  with  the  rapidity  with  which  gun-powder  explodes 
at  contact  with  fire. 

"Just  the  thing!  "said  Mr.  Storey.  "All  the  great 
American  newspapers  have  bureaux  of  news  in  the  old 
world  !  " 

' '  Exactly  what  I  have  been  studying, ' '  said  Snowden, 
as  if  he  had  been  giving  the  establishing  of  a  bureau  in 
Europe  his  entire  thought  for  at  least  six  months. 

An  understanding  was  soon  reached ;  it  was  to  be  no 
temporary  or  ephemeral  matter.  I  was  to  go  to  L,ondon 
and  establish  a  bureau,  with  the  option  of  remaining  three 
years,  or  longer,  if  I  chose.  I  rented  my  house  for 
three  years,  stored  the  furniture  at  a  sacrifice,  and  took  my 
family  with  me,  my  son,  John  E.  Wilkie,  going  as  a  paid 
assistant  in  the  purposed  enterprise. 

I  went  over  in  January  ;  my  wife,  daughter  and  son  came 
later.  I  sold,  when  I  left,  a  valuable  young  horse,  a  fine 
top-buggy  and  a  sleigh. 

When  I  shook  hands  with  Mr.  Storey  the  day  I  left,  and 
bade  him  good-by,  it  was  the  last  time  I  ever  saw  his  face. 

I  determined  upon  a  system  of  organization,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  put  it  into  effect  at  once.  An  office  was  procured 
at  No.  6  Agar  Street,  Strand,  and  fitted  up  with  so  much 
celerity  that  Mr.  Storey  did  the  unusual  thing  of  express- 
ing satisfaction.  Under  date  of  February  28,  1881,  he 
writes : 

"  DEAR  MR.  WILKIE  :  —  I  have  yours  of  the  isth.  You  seem  to  be 
getting  on  famously,  and  evidently  mean  business.  Your  plans  all 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          293 

strike  me  as  admirable.  Your  suggestions  shall  be  faithfully  fulfilled. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  our  most  sanguine  hopes  of  the  branch  will  be 
realized." 

The  system  adopted  in  the  bureau  had,  I  think,  some 
valuable  features  in  the  matter  of  economy,  and  also 
efficiency  in  the  supplying  of  news.  I  started  out  with  the 
idea  of  paying  only  for  services  actually  rendered.  No 
person  connected  with  the  bureau  outside  of  its  managers 
received  any  regular  salary.  Geographically,  all  the  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  continent,  and  portions  of  Northern  Africa, 
were  represented  by  the  bureau. 

I  began  by  writing  to  the  American  legation  at  each 
capital  in  Europe,  asking  them  to  give  me  the  name  of 
some  person  connected  with  their  own  body,  or  a  native 
resident,  who  would  furnish  the  bureau  information. 
In  this  way  we  secured  Sigmund  Wolf  for  Cairo ;  Frank 
Mason  at  Berne,  Switzerland  ;  Madame  Marie  Michailofffor 
St.  Petersburg ;  Belle  Scott-Uda  for  Italy,  and  to  keep  an 
eye  on  Vesuvius ;  Hourtz  for  Berlin  ;  William  Robeson, 
ex-consul  at  L,eith,  for  Tripoli,  covering  Northern  Africa 
generally  ;  Hon.  John  Dillon  and  Wm.  Wall,  Dublin,  and 
John  Joline  Ross  for  Paris. 

Bach  attache  was  instructed  that  in  case  of  some  very 
unusual  occurrence,  like  the  burning  of  the  opera-house  at 
Nice  or  the  assassination  of  the  Czar,  a  brief  account  was 
to  be  sent  at  once  by  telegraph,  and,  if  more  extended 
reports  were  needed,  they  would  be  ordered  from  the 


294  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

bureau.     As  said,  the  payment  for  this  work  was  special ; 
that  is,  according  to  its  importance. 

The  New  York  Herald  employed  a  force  to  which  large 
annual  salaries  were  paid,  and  in  many  cases  a  furnished 
house  was  supplied.  Of  course  the  difference  between  that 
system  and  the  one  adopted  by  the  I/mdon  bureau  of  the 
Times  made  a  balance  in  favor  of  the  latter  of  several  thou- 
sand dollars  per  annum.  The  contrast  will  appear  in  a 
stronger  light  when  I  state  that  Mr.  Connery,  who  was 
managing  editor  of  the  Herald  at  that  time,  informed  a 
friend  of  mine  that  the  cable  service  of  the  Times  from 
the  old  country  was  fully  equal  to  that  of  the  Herald  in 
many  respects,  and  in  some  others  was  greatly  its  superior. 
Albert  Brisbane  and  Frank  Gray,  both  of  whom  are  jour- 
nalists of  great  judgment  and  experience,  paid  me  the  high 
compliment  of  pronouncing  the  work  of  the  bureau  of  the 
Chicago  Times  the  very  best  that  had  ever  been  done  for  an 
American  newspaper. 

The  bureau  also  included  a  system  of  soliciting  adver- 
tisements, and  which,  during  its  short  existence,  had  suc- 
ceeded in  laying  a  very  substantial  foundation  for  future 
business.  Just  before  the  bureau  was  discontinued,  I  had 
made  a  partial  agreement  with  a  noted  horse-breeder  for  a 
notice  of  his  place,  for  which  he  was  to  pay  ^500  ;  but  as  I 
was  recalled  at  the  very  time  that  negotiations  were  pend- 
ing, I  gave  the  office  no  information  in  regard  to  the  pro- 
jected contract. 

As  it  was,  quite  a  number  of  well-paying  advertisements 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          295 

were  secured  and  published  in  the  Chicago  Times.  I  have 
never  doubted  that,  had  the  bureau  been  continued  another 
year,  I  could  have  placed  it  upon  a  self-sustaining  basis. 

There  was  a  great  rivalry  among  the  leading  American 
papers  in  the  winter  and  spring  of  1881  to  secure  an 
advance  copy  of  the  revised  edition  of  the  New  Testament. 
The  Chicago  Tribune  and  the  New  York  Herald,  World, 
Times,  and  many  other  papers,  all  had  representatives 
in  lyondon,  some  of  them  with  blank  checks,  prepared 
to  pay  any  amount  for  the  coveted  object.  None  of  them, 
of  course,  avowed  the  purpose  of  their  visit.  They  were 
all  there  for  some  other  object. 

I  met  Charles  Harrington,  a  reporter  of  the  Chicago 
Tribune,  one  day  on  the  Strand,  and  the  moment  he  saw  me 
a  look  came  over  his  face  which  said  as  plainly  as  if  in  so 
many  words  :  "I'm  after  the  Revised  Testament."  What 
he  did  say  after  the  customary  commonplaces  was  that,  he 
had  just  come  from  Paris,  where  he  had  been  to  leave 
his  sister,  who  was  in  poor  health.  He  left  me  just  as  soon 
as  he  could  conveniently,  and  I  saw  him  no  more. 

I  spared  no  effort  to  secure  the  document.  I  called  upon 
several  of  the  most  prominent  detective  agencies  in  the 
metropolis  to  enlist  their  services.  I  sent  an  agent  to  the 
house  of  a  bishop  who  had  been  concerned  in  the  revision, 
who  was  to  gain  admission  to  the  episcopal  residence  on 
some  pretext  or  other,  his  instructions  being  to  look  over 
as  much  of  the  library  as  he  could,  in  the  hope  that  he 
might  light  on  a  copy  and  bring  it  away  with  him.  It  was 


296  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

supposed,  of  course,  that  the  official  would  be  received  byf 
the  bishop  in  his  study,  and  if  there  were  any  of  the  books 
in  the  bishop's  possession,  they  might  be  found  in  that  room. 

For  a  long  time  I  worked  in  every  possible  direction 
wdthout  achieving  the  slightest  result.  I  had  a  friend,  an 
American  doctor,  permanently  located  in  L,ondon,  with 
whom  I  was  on  terms  of  great  intimacy,  and  with  whom  I 
used  to  take  long  trips  up  and  down  the  river.  On  one 
occasion,  when  we  were  going  to  Greenwich,  he  noticed  that 
I  seemed  very  much  preoccupied.  He  asked  what  was  the 
matter,  and  I  told  him  of  the  fierce  rivalry  that  was  in 
existence  among  the  American  papers,  of  the  great  number 
of  agents  in  I/mdon  in  search  of  the  book,  of  the  large 
sums  of  money  with  which  they  were  intrusted  to  prosecute 
the  work,  and  of  the  fact  that  the  Times  had  given  me  no 
margin  in  the  shape  of  an  outlay  ;  and  yet  that  my  anxiety 
to  win  was  all  the  more  intense  in  view  of  the  tremendous 
odds  that  I  was  compelled  to  encounter. 

* '  Why, ' '  said  he,  ' '  I  think  I  can  give  you  a  lift  in  that 
direction. ' ' 

"You  don't  mean  it  !" 

"I  certainly  do." 

"  Well,  if  you  can  assist  me  in  this  matter  you  will  make 
me  your  everlasting  debtor.  How  much  of  it  do  you  think 
you  can  get  ?  ' ' 

"  I  can't  tell  you  just  yet,  but  I  will  look  into  the  thing 
and  let  you  know  to-morrow. ' ' 

The  next  day  I  met  him  at  the  Grand  Hotel,  when  he 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  297 

informed  me  that  he  could  obtain  so  many  manuscript 
pages  of  the  revised  copy.  I  at  once  flew  to  the  cable 
office  and  telegraphed  to  the  home  office  : 

' '  Can  get  large  part  of  Revised  Testament.  How  many 
words?" 

The  answer  came : 

1 '  Four  thousand. ' ' 

Everybody  in  the  Northwest  will  remember  the  appear- 
ance of  the  Chicago  Times  one  morning  in  April,  1881, 
when  it  was  an  enormous  mass  of  paper  which  contained 
the  entire  contents  of  the  New  Testament  and  thousands 
of  changes  taken  from  the  revised  English  edition. 

The  matter  appeared  in  the  Chicago  Times  Friday  morn- 
ing. The  changes  were  telegraphed  back  to  New  York  and 
appeared  in  the  World  Saturday  morning.  The  next  Tues- 
day the  New  York  Herald  published  the  matter  which  had 
been  sent  by  its  London  representative. 

The  jealousy  of  the  rival  papers  was  vicious  and  tremen- 
dous. The  Chicago  Tribune  asserted  that  the  dispatch  was 
bogus  and  had  been  made  up  in  the  office.  Storey  met 
this  by  publishing  the  receipt  of  the  telegraph  company  for 
the  payment  of  a  cable  message  of  four  thousand  words. 
A  few  days  later  the  revised  edition  reached  here,  where- 
upon the  Tribune  tried  it  again.  It  took  portions  of  my 
cable  and  published  them  and  corresponding  portions  of  the 
revised  version  in  parallel  columns,  showing  a  sum  total  of 
seventeen  differences,  and  again  asseverated  that  the  proof 
of  fraud  was  incontestible- 


298  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

The  matter  had  been  handed  me  by  my  friend,  the  doctor. 
He  would  tell  me  no  more  than  that  he  had  copied  it  from 
notes  handed  him  by  a  clerk  of  one  of  the  members  of  the 
Board  of  Revision.  That  clerk,  of  course,  had  to  make  a 
copy  for  the  doctor.  I  took  the  manuscript  furnished  by 
the  doctor  and  copied  it  on  the  type- writer.  It  then  went 
to  the  cable  office,  where  it  was  copied  once  more.  When 
it  reached  Valencia,  Ireland,  it  was  copied  again.  It  was 
copied  again  at  Newfoundland,  again  at  New  York,  again 
at  Chicago,  where  it  went  into  the  hands  of  the  printers 
and  proof-readers,  and  doubtless  underwent  the  changes  and 
alterations  which  are  almost  always  inevitable  in  the  hand- 
ling of  copy. 

Inasmuch  as  it  was  handled  and  copied  or  repeated  nine 
times,  the  seventeen  errors  made  an  average  of  less  than 
two  mistakes  in  each  repetition.  And,  in  addition,  the 
copy  came  in  such  shape  from  New  York  that  much  of  it 
had  to  be  repeated. 

The  next  month  after  the  victory  on  the  struggle  for  the 
first  copy  of  the  Revised  Testament,  I  accomplished  another 
feat  which,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  has  never  been  equaled. 
The  Oxford  and  Cambridge  boat-race  was  rowed,  the  start 
being  at  nine  o'clock  A.  M.  I  sent  over  the  event,  the 
time,  the  name  of  the  winning  crew,  in  season  to  be  printed 
in  the  morning  edition  of  the  Times,  whereby  its  readers 
were  able  to  read  the  result  several  hours,  according  to  the 
clock,  before  it  had  occurred. 

The  explanation  is   simple.      There  is  five  hours   and 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          299 

fifty- eight  minutes'  difference  in  time  between  L,ondon  and 
Chicago.  The  race  which  takes  place  at  nine  o'clock  in 
the  morning  in  L,ondon  is  occurring  when  the  watches  in 
Chicago  mark  3  A.  M. 

Soon  after  these  two  signal  triumphs,  I  received,  under 
date  of  May  30,  a  letter  from  Mr.  Storey,  in  which  he  said  : 

' '  Your  dispatches  are  marvels  ;  still  they  are  too  costly. 
A  quarter  of  a  column,  or  half  a  column,  ought  to  suffice  on 
all  ordinary  occasions  —  indeed,  on  all  extraordinary  occa- 
sions, unless  it  be  a  very  extraordinary  occasion.  Of 
course,  you  can  not  elaborate,  even,  unless  the  world  comes 
to  an  end  on  your  side  of  the  Atlantic  —  then  you  might 
enlarge  a  little.  This  matter  is  vital,  for  the  present  cost  is 
more  than  we  can  stand. ' ' 

He  then  devotes  a  page  or  two  to  abusing  McNeil,  the 
contractor,  for  the  reason  that  some  coping  placed  around 
his  lot  by  McNeil  had  become  uneven.  He  had  written  me 
a  letter  on  the  same  subject  a  month  before,  accusing 
McNeil  of  being  a  swindler.  I  replied  in  a  sharp  letter,  in 
which  I  stated  that  neither  McNeil  nor  I,  who  had  employed 
him  to  do  the  work,  was  to  blame,  but  he,  Mr.  Storey,  for 
he  had  insisted  on  having  the  coping  put  down  in  Novem- 
ber, when  the  ground  was  full  of  frost,  and,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  when  the  frost  came  out  in  the  spring  the  stones 
would  be  thrown  out  of  place. 

In  a  letter  of  May  3 1 ,  he  concludes  as  follows  •. 

"Do  not  be  disturbed  by  trifles.  I  didn't  mean  to  dis- 
turb you  about  McNeil '^  faux  pas,  but  I  was  vexed,  and 


300  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

am  yet.  I  know  —  I  arn  sure  —  of  your  loyalty,  and  I  ap- 
preciate it.  Do  not  ever  doubt  it. 

' '  I  hope  you  are  happy  ;  you  have  your  family  with  you, 
and  ought  to  be. 

"I  hope  that  your  mission  will  be  successful,  so  that 
you  shall  neither  wish  to  come  home,  and  neither  that  I 
shall  wish  to  have  you." 


II. 

A  FINANCIAL  COU,APSE. 

IT  will  be  supposed  by  most  people  reading  these  extracts 
from  Mr.  Storey's  letter  that  I  was  highly  pleased  with 
their  kindly  tone. 

On  the  contrary,  the  letter  thoroughly  alarmed  me.  I 
knew  him  so  well  that  I  was  perfectly  aware  that  his  pur- 
ring was  the  prelude  to  a  vicious  scratch  with  every  nail  in 
his  paw.  Circumstances  tended  to  give  a  sinister  meaning 
to  some  of  his  words,  especially  concerning  the  cutting 
down  of  dispatches. 

During  the  period  I  had  been  running  the  bureau,  I  had 
been  cramped  for  money.  I  had  to  use  my  private  funds  ; 
the  remittances  from  the  office  were  always  behind,  and 
when  they  did  come  were  often  in  driblets. 

At  first  I  was  very  much  embarrassed,  and  wrote  savage 
complaints  to  Mr.  A.  L.  Patterson,  the  business  manager, 
whom  I  half  suspected  of  hostility  to  my  bureau.  I  dis- 
covered later  that  it  was  not  in  the  least  his  fault ;  he  was 
carrying  a  burden  that  would  have  crushed  half  a  dozen 
common  men. 

At  the  time  I  began  to  receive  warning  to  cut  down  my 
telegrams,  as  I  learned  afterwards,  the  Times  was  in  a 

301 


302  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

desperate  financial  strait.  There  were  twelve  hundred 
correspondents  throughout  the  country  to  whom  the  office 
was  some  months  in  arrears.  Cash  at  the  rate  of  sixty 
thousand  dollars  a  year  was  being  diverted  to  the  ' '  mauso- 
leum ' '  on  Forty-third  Street  and  Vincennes  Avenue.  My 
bureau  was  costing  from  $3,000  to  $5,000  a  month.  To 
meet  this  enormous  outlay  the  earnings  of  the  paper  were 
insufficient. 

Snowden,  inexperienced,  immature,  reckless,  inundated 
the  pages  of  the  Times  with  news  matter  much  of  which 
was  costly  and  utterly  valueless. 

In  a  letter  dated  April  12,  1881,  Mr.  Storey  writes  : 

' '  I  am  not  surprised,  of  course,  nevertheless  I  am  glad 
you  are  getting  on  so  well.  I  have  confidence  that  you  will 
make  your  bureau  a  success  that  no  other  American  paper 
can  approach. 

"  I  am  still  improving  in  health.  I  thank  you  for  your 
congratulations  and  anticipations.  I  think  now  I  shall  go 
to  Europe  in  1883,  and  I  fondly  hope  that  I  shall  find  you 
in  L,ondon. 

"  With  all  my  wishes  for  your  happiness,  I  am  very  truly 
yours." 

A  brief  note  from  Mr.  Storey,  dated  February  7,  1881, 
will  present  an  idea  of  his  lack  of  knowledge  of  current 
events  : 

"  MY  DKAR  SIR  :  —  Failure  on  such  an  occasion  as  the  event  of  yes- 
terday is  practically  to  make  your  whole  mission  a  failure.  The  Rus- 
sians in  Constantinople,  and  not  a  word  from  you  !  " 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  303 

The  rumor  was  that  the  British  fleet  had  moved  in  front 
of  the  city,  and  not  that  the  Russians  had  captured  it. 

The  warnings  given  in  Mr.  Storey's  letter  of  May  31, 
concerning  the  reduction  of  dispatches,  finally  grew  into  a 
tremendous  clamor.  The  managing  editor  wrote  me  at 
least  three  times  a  week,  under  ' '  instructions ' '  from  Mr. 
Storey,  to  cut  down  the  quantity  of  matter.  Snowden 
thundered  at  me  for  a  couple  of  months,  and  then  the  same 
class  of  ominous  correspondence  continued  in  another  hand- 
writing, commencing,  "  Mr.  Storey  instructs,"  and  ending 
"per  C.  Dennett." 

The  removal  of  Snowden  was  a  very  peculiar  transaction. 
For  months  Mr.  Storey  had  been  indirectly  indorsing  the 
extravagance  in  news  of  Snowden.  The  facts  in  the  case 
show  that  in  this  stage  the  mind  of  the  ' '  Old  Man  ' '  was 
becoming  impaired.  Snowden  would  go  into  Mr.  Storey's 
room  and  say  to  him  : 

' '  Mr.  Storey,  such  and  such  a  thing  has  happened  in 
Southwestern  Texas.  Shall  we  send  a  man  down  to  work 
it  up?" 

' '  Yes,  if  you  like, ' '  would  be  the  reply,  apparently  with- 
out any  conception  of  the  subject.  It  was  with  the  greatest 
difficulty  that  Mr.  Patterson,  the  business  manager,  suc- 
ceeded in  arousing  Mr.  Storey's  attention  to  the  ruinous 
condition  of  the  finances  of  the  Times.  Finally  Storey 
seemed  to  awaken  to  an  actual  conception  of  what  was  in 
progress,  and  said  that  he  would  take  measures  to  check 
the  extravagance. 


\ 


304  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

The  manner  in  which  he  proceeded  to  "  check  the 
extravagance ' '  was  one  entirely  in  harmony  with  his 
treacherous  and  unfeeling  nature.  He  had  been  praising 
Snowden  extravagantly  for  his  enterprise.  He  wrote  him 
the  most  flattering  letters  from  Green  L,ake;  was  kind  and 
cordial  to  him  to  the  last  minute,  even  smiling  as  he  drove 
his  knife  into  the  victim's  heart. 

One  morning  he  sent  orders  to  all  the  heads  of  depart- 
ments to  be  at  his  room  at  a  certain  hour.  All  had  assembled 
except  Snowden,  and  a  messenger  was  sent  to  summon  him. 
When  he  came  in  he  had  the  expression  of  one  who  expects 
a  cordial  reception,  and  undoubtedly,  on  the  way  in  response 
to  the  summons,  he  ran  over  in  his  mind  the  good  things 
which  he  had  done,  and  for  which  he  doubtless  anticipated 
that  he  was  about  to  be  complimented. 

The  door  closed  behind  him.  Said  Mr.  Storey,  looking 
at  him  with  a  half-smile  : 

' '  Snowden,  I  am  going  to  take  the  bull  by  the  horns. 
You  are  a  failure.  You  are  too  extravagant.  I  shall  put 
Mr.  Dennett  in  your  place. ' ' 

One  can,  perhaps,  imagine  the  reaction  in  the  mind  of  the 
big  blond  manager.  One  of  those  who  was  present  told 
me  that  Snowden'sface  first  grew  pale,  then  flushed  scarlet ; 
he  sank  down  visibly  as  if  he  had  lost  the  strength  of  his 
legs,  and  he  had  the  appearance  of  one  who  has  received  a 
mortal  blow.  How  inconceivably  fiendish,  thus  summoning 
the  chiefs  of  all  the  departments  to  be  present  to  witness 
the  degradation  and  humiliation  of  one  of  their  own  number  1 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  305 

The  first  practical  step  toward  cutting  down  the  expenses 
of  the  I/mdon  bureau  was  the  stopping  of  the  salary  of  my 
assistant,  John  K.  Wilkie.  This  was  cut  off  some  time  in 
August  with  the  understanding  that  it  would  be  held  back 
for  one  month  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  restored.  This 
would  save  to  the  office  a  trifle  over  $100,  but  at  the  expira- 
tion of  the  time  it  was  not  restored,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
he  continued  to  serve  the  paper  for  that  month  and  the  two 
succeeding  ones.  That  saved  the  Times,  in  the  aggregate, 
three  hundred  dollars. 

The  unfavorable  portents  which  I  had  inferred  from  Mr. 
Storey's  purring  letter  of  May  31  came  to  a  realization 
some  time  in  October,  when  I  received  a  letter  from  the 
managing  editor  stating  that  he  was  instructed  to  have  me 
discontinue  the  bureau  and  report  in  Chicago.  I  was  so 
outraged  at  this  treatment  that  upon  reaching  the  office  I 
made  a  settlement  of  my  bureau  accounts  and  left  without 
seeing  Mr.  Storey,  the  managing  editor,  or  any  one  else 
except  the  business  manager. 

As  before  said,  I  had  an  option  of  staying  at  least  three 
years,  or  permanently,  if  I  so  elected,  but  I  was  in  London 
only  from  January  to  October.  The  loss  to  me  in  the  trans- 
action, on  account  of  moving  my  family  over  and  back  and 
the  sale  of  property,  amounted  to  about  $2,800,  which  was 
an  amount  not  very  much  less  than  half  the  sum  I  received 
for  the  ten  months'  services. 

During  1882  I  wrote  a  large  book  entitled  "  A  History  of 
the  Great  Inventions  and  their  Effect  on  Civilization,"  for 


$o6  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

Ruth  Bros.,  of  Cincinnati  and  Chicago.  I  contributed  daily 
editorials  to  the  News,  and  also  for  several  months  editorial 
matter  to  the  St.  Paul  Globe  by  telegraph. 

When  Mr.  Storey  became  idiotic,  which  he  did  within  a 
few  months,  and  a  conservator  was  appointed,  I  was  asked 
to  re-attach  myself  to  the  Times.  This  I  did,  and  remained 
with  it  under  Conservator  Patterson  and  Receiver  Hurlbut, 
retiring  permanently  when  the  Times  was  taken  possession 
of  by  West  and  his  gang  of  blackmailers.  My  connection 
with  the  Chicago  Times  and  Mr.  Storey  commenced  in  Sep- 
tember, 1863,  and  extended  in  an  unbroken  line  to  1881, 
was  resumed  in  1883,  and  terminated  finally  in  1888,  being 
a  service  of  twenty- three  years. 

Of  all  the  results  of  my  journalistic  career,  the  Chicago 
Press  Club  is  one  concerning  which  I  feel  great  pride  and 
gratification. 

There  is  an  erroneous  impression  regarding  the  origin  of 
the  Press  Club  —  the  one  that  attributes  it  to  Mark  Twain. 
He  was,  in  a  certain  sense,  the  occasion  of  its  organization, 
but  in  no  sense  the  cause  of  it.  In  December,  1879,  he  was 
in  Chicago,  and  some  of  the  newspaper  men  suggested  giv- 
ing him  a  little  reception  and  entertainment.  The  only 
place  available  at  the  time  was  a  basement  saloon,  damp, 
odorous,  redolent  of  sawdnst  and  mephitic  with  stale 
tobacco  smoke. 

After  the  gathering  had  adjourned,  Melville  E.  Stone  and 
myself  happened  to  walk  away  together,  when  one  of  us  re- 
marked :  "  What  an  infernal  shame  it  is  that  the  press  of 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  307 

Chicago  has  no  better  place  to  entertain  a  distinguished 
visitor  than  a  foul-smelling  subterranean  den  !  "  On  the 
strength  of  this  it  was  decided  that  an  effort  should  be  made 
to  form  a  club. 

A  half-dozen  prominent  journalists  were  notified  ;  a  pre- 
liminary meeting  was  held  at  the  Tremont  House,  the  result 
of  whose  deliberations  was  a  resolution  to  institute  a  Press 
Club  to  be  composed  exclusively  of  members  of  the  literary 
department  of  the  newspapers.  A  charter  was  obtained,  a 
constitution  was  drawn  up,  officers  were  elected,  and  on 
January  8,  1880,  the  Chicago  Press  Club  began  its  existence 
in  the  rooms  which  it  has  ever  since  occupied.  The  club 
did  me  the  honor  to  elect  me  the  first  President,  a  distinc- 
tion which  I  have  always  recalled  with  much  pleasure  and 
satisfaction. 

Before  the  present  club  was  instituted,  there  had  been  no 
less  than  six  efforts  made  to  establish  press  clubs,  but  none 
succeeded,  principally  for  the  reason  that,  when  their 
finances  became  low,  they  admitted  outsiders  —  lawyers, 
actors,  and  other  professional  men.  The  ten  years'  exist- 
ence of  the  present  club  is  due  in  part  to  the  universally 
excellent  management  that  has  controlled  it,  and  the  further 
fact  that  it  is  homogeneous  —  the  constitution  expressly 
providing  that  no  man  is  eligible  for  membership  unless  for 
at  least  one  year  prior  to  his  application  he  shall  have  sup- 
ported himself  by  his  pen  in  literary  work. 

The  club  has  proved  to  be  a  great  missionary  force. 
Before  it  was  instituted,  the  Bohemian  element  predominated 


308  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

among  the  newspaper  men  of  the  city.     This  class  had  no 
\    home,  and  when  off  duty,  partly  from  necessity  and  partly 
from  inclination,  resorted  to  the  beer-hall  for  a  place  of 
shelter  and  recreation. 

Now  the  club  furnishes  them  a  splendid  home.  It  is  so 
much  more  attractive  than  the  old  places  of  resort  that  it 
draws  its  members  as  a  matter  of  taste  and  comfort.  It  has 
a  fine  library,  hundreds  of  costly  paintings,  pianos,  billiard- 
room,  restaurant,  reading  and  writing-rooms,  and  spacious 
parlors  for  lounging  and  receptions.  The  club  has  vastly 
improved  the  habits  and  morals,  especially  of  the  reportorial 
element ;  it  has  instituted  receptions  which  are  attended  by 
ladies,  and  which  afford  some  of  the  reporters  the  only 
opportunity  they  have  for  contact  with  the  refinements  of 
feminine  society. 


III. 

STOREY'S  OTHER  SPIRIT. 

WHEN  Mr.  Storey  was  married  the  third  time,  he  entered 
a  family  that  had  a  private,  special  spirit  of  its  own.  The 
bride  brought  it  with  her  along  with  her  other  household 
furnishings,  and  it  became  a  part  of  Mr.  Storey's  domicile. 

As  has  been  related,  Mr.  Storey,  after  the  death  of  his 
second  wife,  gave  a  great  deal  of  time  to  spiritualism.  In 
that  case  his  motive  was  a  desire  to  secure  communication 
with  the  woman  whom  he  so  tenderly  loved.  In  the  case  of 
the  new  spirit  the  motive  for  resorting  to  it  was  one  of 
health. 

It  was  after  his  health  had  failed  that  he  took  into  his 
keeping  this  family  spirit,  in  order,  perhaps,  that  he  might 
always  have  one  on  hand  and  accessible.  It  was,  as 
claimed,  the  spirit  of  an  Indian  girl  that  now  obsessed  and 
then  possessed  him.  It  was  known  as  ( '  L,ittle  Squaw, ' ' 
and  Mrs.  Storey  was  its  trainer,  exhibitor  and  mouthpiece. 

"  Little  Squaw  "  made  her  appearance  in  1875,  about  a 
year  after  Mr.  Storey  had  been  married  the  third  time. 
From  that  period  it,  or  she,  clung  to  him  till  his  consciousness 
was  obscured  by  imbecility.  She  followed  him  everywhere, 
night  and  day,  giving  him  suggestions  as  to  the  origin  of 

309 


3io  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

his  ill-health,  where  to  travel,  how  to  dispose  of  his 
property,  who  were  his  friends  and  who  his  enemies. 
Strangely  enough,  the  infantile  spirit  had  some  malignant 
qualities,  and  she  so  influenced  him  that  she  alienated  all 
his  friends  and  left  him  to  die  by  inches  in  a  sad  isolation. 

Whoever  came  to  see  him  at  the  office,  on  no  matter  what 
business,  was  compelled  to  listen  to  Mr.  Storey's  conversa- 
tion, which  was  wholly  devoted  to  "  Little  Squaw, "  what 
she  had  said  to  him  and  done  for  him.  If  the  visitor 
remained  long  enough,  Mr.  Storey  would  relate  the  same 
thing  in  the  same  language  over,  and  over,  and  over  again. 

He  moved  into  the  house  on  Prairie  Avenue  belonging  to 
Fernando  Jones.  ' '  '  Little  Squaw  '  told  me, ' '  he  would 
say,  ' '  that  I  am  being  poisoned  by  sewer  gas, ' '  and  then  he 
proceeded  to  make  it  warm  for  Fernando  Jones  in  abusive 
letters. 

I  would  go  into  his  office  and  remark  : 

' '  Good  morning,  Mr.  Storey.  You  are  looking  better 
this  morning. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  know  I'm  better.  'Little  Squaw'  last  week 
ordered  me  to  be  rubbed  with  salt  and  whisky,  and  I  had  it 
done  and  am  feeling  much  better. ' ' 

Or  again  : 

' '  '  Little  Squaw '  tells  me  that  I  shall  live  as  long  as 
Commodore  Vanderbilt  did.  He  lived  to  be  over  eighty 
years  of  age." 

Or: 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          311 

' '  '  Little  Squaw  '  ordered  me  to  go  to  such  and  such  a 
watering-place,  and  I  grew  better  at  once." 

Such  are  a  few  of  the  thousands  of  things  he  said  of  the 
Indian  spirit,  which  managed  always  to  flatter  his  vanity  by 
speaking  of  him  as  the  "White  Chief."  It  was  an  omni- 
present spirit ;  it  whispered  in  his  ear  at  the  table,  in  the  car- 
riage, on  the  couch  in  the  night.  It  never  left  him  for  a 
moment.  It  never  ceased  to  suggest,  to  ask,  to  demand,  to 
cajole,  to  wheedle,  to  threaten,  till  his  ears  were  dulled  by 
death. 

Mr.  Storey  was  known  to  be  imbecile  long  before  the  fact 
was  admitted.  He  was  entirely  incapacitated  for  the  intel- 
ligent transaction  of  business  in  1882,  or  two  years  before 
his  death.  It  was  given  out  at  the  office,  when  people 
wished  to  see  him,  that  he  was  temporarily  ill ;  at  home, 
that  he  was  improving,  and  would  be  down  to-morrow.  At 
the  house  no  outsider  would  be  admitted  to  see  him  ;  callers 
were  informed  that  he  was  sleeping,  or  on  some  excuse  or 
another  were  refused  admittance. 

Even  an  order  from  Mr.  Trude,  his  lawyer,  to  the  con- 
servator appointed  by  the  court,  Mr.  Patterson,  to  see  Mr. 
Storey,  was  not  honored. 

( '  Little  Squaw  ' '  has  the  credit  of  being  indirectly  respon- 
sible for  plunging  the  poor  victim  deeper  into  the  abyss  of 
idiocy.  Among  other  remedies  which  this  creature  sug- 
gested for  his  malady  was  the  water-cure.  This  was  at  a 
time  when  he  still  had  a  few  gleams  of  intelligence.  In 
obedience  to  the  prescription  of  the  Indian  practitioner,  he 


3i2  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

went  to  the  bath-room  by  himself,  filled  the  tub  with  cold 
water  and  climbed  into  the  chilling  fluid.  He  was  at  once 
so  shocked  by  the  cold  as  to  become  practically  helpless. 
He  struggled  to  get  out,  but,  unfortunately,  he  had  entered 
the  tub  reversed,  with  his  feet  where  his  head  should  have 
been,  so  that  the  steep  incline  of  the  head  end  kept  his  feet 
slipping  back. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  anybody  came  to  his  assistance, 
and  when  he  was  finally  rescued,  the  shock  had  destroyed 
the  last  particle  of  intellect,  and  left  him  idiotic. 

The  last  editorial  work  done  by  Mr.  Storey  was  three 
brief  articles  which  appeared  in  three  consecutive  issues  of 
his  newspaper.  They  were  double-leaded,  and  placed  at 
the  head  of  the  editorial  column.  All  were  of  the  same  im- 
port :  they  were  a  paean  over  the  unrivaled  prosperity  of* 
the  Times. 

The  closing  words  of  the  first  were  :  ' '  Stick  a  pin  there  ! ' ' 
of  the  second,  "  Stick  a  spike  there  1  "  and  of  third,  "Stick 
a  crow-bar  there  !  ' '  These  were  the  last  words,  so  to 
speak,  of  the  great  editor. 

During  the  months  preceding  his  dissolution,  not  a  soul 
outside  of  the  house  was  permitted  to  see  him.  Brother, 
sister,  nephews  and  nieces  knocked  vainly  for  admission. 

In  fact,  poor  Storey's  final  illness  and  death  were  en- 
vironed by  a  scandalous  scramble  after  his  wealth.  Not  a 
single  one  of  his  kin  by  blood  gave  a  single  thought  to  the 
preservation  of  the  great  institution  which  the  editor  had 
reared  :  all  they  wanted  was  his  wealth.  They  were  hun- 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  313 

gry   hyenas,   snarling,    growling,    snapping,    tearing   each 
other  to  get  at  the  carcass. 

I  had  often  had  conversations  with  one  of  them  when 
Storey's  condition  became  alarming,  and  was  assured  by 
him  that  when  Storey  died  he  and  all  the  other  heirs  of 
blood  would  keep  the  Times  institution  intact,  and  spare  no 
effort  to  continue  it  as  it  had  been  conducted  by  its  founder. 

The  Times  as  an  institution,  as  the  growth  of  years  and 
the  result  of  infinite  labor,  of  brains,  patience,  and  the  com- 
bined thought  and  exertions  of  a  high  order  of  intellect, 
became,  in  the  estimate  of  these  mercenary  creatures,  simply 
an  article  of  traffic,  like  a  car-load  of  pork  or  a  corner  lot ; 
and  not  a  grand  institution  capable  of  exerting  omnipotent 
influences,  but  a  vulgar  thing  of  purchase  and  sale,  like  a 
cargo  of  cabbages. 

Not  a  word  was  uttered  in  favor  of  perpetuating  this 
monument  of  Storey's  life-work.  They  wanted  no  monu- 
ment :  what  they  yearned  and  fought  for  was  cash,  or  its 
equivalent.  They  were  anxious  to  pull  down  the  towering 
column,  so  as  to  break  it  up  and  sell  it  at  pot-metal  rates. 

I  have  no  moral  to  present,  based  on  the  career  of  Mr. 
Storey.  The  essential  facts  of  his  life  have  been  given  in 
these  reminiscences,  and  each  reader  can  deduce  his  own 
conclusions.  It  is  simple  justice  to  state  that  much  of  his 
greatness  and  success  was  due  to  the  men  who  surrounded 
him.  The  majority  of  his  staff  in  the  literary  and  business 
departments  were  with  him  substantially  from  the  beginning 
of  his  career  to  his  death. 


3i4  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

The  Pattersons  —  Austin,  business  manager,  and  Ira, 
who  had  charge  of  the  distribution  of  the  paper  —  came 
with  him  from  Michigan  and  were  on  duty  when  he  died. 
John  Stridiron,  cashier,  also  came  with  him  from  Detroit, 
remained  at  his  post  for  nearly  thirty  years,  and  left  only 
when  incapacitated  by  total  blindness.  Michael  Henne- 
berry,  assisted  by  Hyde  and  Foote,  had  charge  of  the  com- 
mercial department  for  many  years,  the  first-named  dying 
in  his  harness. 

In  the  editorial  department  M.  I,.  Hopkins  stood  by  Mr. 
Storey  for  eight  years,  Andre  Matteson  for  about  fourteen 
years,  and  in  my  own  case  over  twenty  years  with  Storey, 
and  twenty-three  with  his  newspaper.  Charles  Dennett 
was  by  his  side  for  many  years  and  ended  his  life  in  his 
chosen  profession. 

It  is  these  men  who  are  mainly  responsible  for  his  won- 
derful rise. 

Storey  never  had  the  manliness  to  admit  his  obligations 
to  the  men  about  him.  Hundreds  of  times  did  I  sug- 
gest the  adoption  of  certain  plans  and  measures,  and 
equally  often  did  he  apparently  give  them  no  attention,  and 
yet  within  a  week  or  a  month  would  he  communicate  the 
identical  projects  to  me  as  of  his  own  creation.  My 
experience  in  this  direction  was  paralleled  in  innumerable 
instances  in  the  experience  of  the  business  management  of 
his  newspaper. 


IV. 

CHANGES  OF  A  GENERATION. 

THERE  have  been  many  very  marked  changes  both  in  the 
moral  and  the  practical  conditions  of  the  press  within  the 
period  concerning  which  I  have  written,  and  which  covers 
a  little  over  a  generation. 

Thirty-five  years  ago,  more  especially  here  in  the  West, 
the  editor,  as  a  rule,  was  given  no  higher  title  than  that  of 
' '  printer. ' '  It  was  a  term  as  comprehensive  as  the  present 
one  of  journalist.  The  word  "printer,"  in  its  regular 
meaning,  is  entirely  respectable,  but  in  the  earlier  sense  it 
conveyed  no  very  elevated  meaning. 

At  that  period,  there  prevailed  very  extensively  a  low 
state  of  morals  in  the  newspaper  profession.  The  fact  that 
a  man  was  known  as  a  "printer"  seemed  to  debar  him 
from  association  with  the  better  class  of  people.  He  was 
rarely,  if  ever,  regarded  as  a  man  of  intellect ;  he  was 
looked  upon  as  a  good  fellow  ;  when  he  visited  the  editor 
of  some  newspaper,  the  latter  always  spoke  of  him  as  ' '  our 
rollicking  friend,  John  Smith,  P.  B.  (perfect  brick)  ;  before 
he  left  the  town,  some  of  the  boys  and  ourselves  drained  a 
few  bowls  over  at  Jake's  place,  and  the  night  was  passed  in 
songs,  stories,  wassail,  and  a  bully  time." 

3T5 


3i6  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

I  have  known  personally  perhaps  a  hundred  editors  who, 
every  day  and  night  of  their  lives,  after  their  labors  were 
finished,  filled  themselves  up  with  bad  whisky,  and  who 
were  always  ready,  even  during  business  hours,  to  accept 
an  invitation  "to  go  out  and  "  take  something." 

George  D.  Prentice  was  a  man  who  probably  was  intoxi- 
cated more  or  less  for  twenty  hours  of  each  twenty-four  of 
every  day  of  his  professional  life.  The  last  time  I  saw  him 
was  in  1862.  He  sat  in  his  seat,  in  his  office,  bent  forward, 
his  face  flushed,  his  speech  incoherent,  his  expression  ap- 
proaching the  idiotic,  and  his  entire  appearance  pitiful  in 
the  extreme.  In  his  case,  a  most  brilliant  life,  a  supreme 
genius,  unequaled  wit  and  humor,  were  all  reduced  to  a 
total  wreck  by  the  excessive  use  of  alcoholic  stimulants. 

The  principal  editor  of  the  St.  L,ouis  Republican  during 
the  war  was  a  man  of  great  ability,  and  one  of  those  genial 
journalists  who  were  willing  to  lay  down  their  pens  in  the 
middle  of  an  editorial,  in  its  most  critical  portion  perhaps, 
and  go  out,  in  response  to  an  invitation  from  a  caller,  to 
some  neighboring  saloon,  take  a  seat  at  a  table,  and  remain 
one,  two  or  three  hours,  guzzling  liquid  ruin. 

Pat  Richardson,  of  McGregor,  Iowa,  the  editor  of  the 
News,  the  brightest  paper  in  Iowa,  was  an  inveterate  inebri- 
ate all  his  life,  and  finally  died  from  the  indirect  effects  of  a 
prolonged  debauch.  One  who  knows  the  newspaper  men 
of  Chicago  can  recall  the  cases  of  scores  of  men  who,  when 
not  actively  engaged  in  their  business,  were  to  be  found  in 
the  saloons  in  a  state  of  inebriety. 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  317 

George  L,anigan  is  a  specimen  of  a  class  in  whom  drunk- 
enness predominated.  It  can  probably  be  said  of  him  with 
entire  safety  that  he  did  not  draw  a  sober  breath  for  years. 
Yet,  withal,  he  was  a  man  of  a  high  order  of  ability,  of 
wonderful  genius,  and,  had  he  lived  a  sober  life,  he  would 
undoubtedly  have  attained  the  first  rank  in  journalism.  He 
was  on  the  Tribune  here  in  Chicago  late  in  the  sixties,  and, 
when  his  services  were  needed,  word  was  sent  to  his  wife 
as  to  their  nature.  She  doused  him  with  cold  water, 
wrapped  up  his  head  with  cold,  wet  cloths,  and  in  a  short 
time  would  restore  him  to  a  condition  of  partial  sobriety,  in 
which  he  would  do  his  required  work  to  perfection,  and  the 
instant  it  was  done  would  resort  again  to  the  bottle. 

One  of  the  brightest  reporters  that  Chicago  ever  knew  was 
Harry  Griffith,  who,  about  1865,  was  one  of  the  most  prom- 
ising young  journalists  in  the  city,  and  who  ended  a  career 
whose  possibilities  permitted  unlimited  success  by  excessive 
drink. 

These  are  specimen  cases,  and  represent  a  vast  number  of 
the  same  class. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is,  or  has  been,  almost  impossible 
for  a  newspaper  man  to  resist  the  temptation  to  drink.  He 
is  universally  regarded  as  a  good  fellow.  Everybody  is  his 
friend,  or  pretends  to  be.  He  is  looked  upon  as  the  pos- 
sessor of  great  power  to  influence  the  business,  the  environ- 
ments, the  reputation  of  the  public  ;  hence  there  is  a  con- 
stant effort  to  placate  him,  to  please  him,  and  custom  seems 
to  have  established  that  the  shortest  and  most  effective 


3i8  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

route  to  gain  his  good  will  is  through  the  saloon.  He  goes 
into  a  drinking-place  to  get  a  glass  of  beer,  intending  to 
hurry  back  to  his  work,  when  he  meets  a  friend  as  he  leaves 
the  counter,  who  says  : 

"Hello,  Johnny!  I'm  just  going  to  have  a  glass  of 
beer.  Join  me." 

"  Thanks,  I've  just  had  one." 

"  One  !  What's  one  beer  ?  Have  one  with  me.  I  don't 
like  to  drink  alone. ' ' 

The  newspaper  man  yields.  While  the  two  are  quaffing 
their  potations,  one  or  two  other  acquaintances  come  in. 

"Come,  boys,"  say  the  late  comers,  ''we're  going  to 
take  something.  What  will  you  have  ?  ' ' 

They  all  drink.  The  newspaper  man  starts  to  go  away, 
when  one  of  the  others  says  : 

"  Boys,  you  must  all  have  a  round  with  me.  I  haven't 
bought  anything  yet. ' ' 

Of  course  they  all  drink  again. 

Many  a  time,  in  my  own  case,  have  I  left  my  room  to 
run  across  the  street  to  get  a  glass  of  beer,  leaving  my  door 
open  and  everything  with  a  reference  to  not  more  than  a 
two-minutes'  absence,  and  have  been  caught  in  a  ' '  snap  ' ' 
like  this,  not  reaching  my  room  in  hours  after  leaving  it, 
and  meanwhile  drinking  from  six  to  ten  glasses  of  beer. 
What  was  my  experience  has  been  that  of  almost  every 
newspaper  man  who  is  not  a  total  abstainer. 

There  is  still  too  much  indulgence  in  stimulants  among 
newspaper  attaches  ;  but  it  can  be  truthfully  said  that  the 


THIRTY-FIVE  }  EARS  OF  JOURNALISM.          319 

vice  is  not  nearly  so  prevalent  and  deep-seated  as  it  was  ten 
years  ago.  There  was  a  period  when  many  a  reporter 
prided  himself  on  wearing  the  disreputable  title  of  "Bohe- 
mian," abjuring  soap  and  clean  linen,  making  his  habitat  an 
underground  den  odorous  with  the  fumes  of  sawdust,  rancid 
beer,  stale  tobacco  smoke  and  fetid  breaths. 

In  Chicago  the  fine  carpets,  the  walls  hung  with  paint- 
ings, the  elegant  furniture,  the  cleanliness  of  the  commodi- 
ous rooms  of  the  Press  Club,  have,  to  a  very  considerable 
extent,  furnished  a  substitute  for  the  vile  dens  which 
formerly  secured  the  patronage  of  so  many  literary  men. 

There  is  an  equally  marked  and  valuable  improvement  in 
the  matter  of  the  education,  the  scholarship  of  men  con- 
nected with  newspapers.  The  time  has  about  passed  when 
it  is  the  thing  for  the  reporter  with  a  dirty  shirt,  a  beer- 
scented  breath,  to  sneer  at  the  "  college  graduate."  It  has 
not  been  learned  that  a  degree  from  a  college  especially  fits 
one  for  the  ready  performance  of  the  duties  connected  with 
journalism,  but  it  is  becoming  known  that,  other  things 
being  equal,  the  college  graduate  has  much  the  best  of  it  in 
the  race  for  distinction. 

A  college  training  is  not  an  absolute  necessity  for  report- 
ers, editors,  book-reviewers  and  other  attaches  of  the  press  ; 
it  is,  however,  as  a  rule,  a  valuable  assistance. 

I  am  gratified  to  assert  with  entire  positiveness  that,  dur- 
ing the  period  that  I  have  been  connected  with  journalism, 
there  has  been  an  immeasurable  advance  in  the  personal  hab- 
its and  in  the  intelligence  and  education  of  the  newspaper 


320  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OP 

fraternity.  There  has  been  an  accession  to  the  dignity  of 
journalism  both  in  its  personnel  and  in  the  development  of 
its  intellectual  forces. 

Here  in  the  ' '  rowdy  West  * '  the  improvements  in  these 
two  directions  have  been  almost  revolutionary  in  their 
character.  Courtesy,  as  a  rule,  has  taken  the  place  of  the 
savage  abuse  and  vituperation  which  once  found  so  extended 
lodgement  in  editorial  columns.  Journalists  are  ceasing  to 
hate  and  despise  each  other.  There  is  growing  something 
akin  to  the  mutual  knightly  deference  characteristic  of  days 
of  chivalry. 

Even  in  the  South,  the  crack  of  the  revolver  and  the 
roar  of  the  shot-gun,  in  and  about  the  newspaper  offices, 
are  no  longer  heard.  In  New  York  City,  the  self-styled 
head-center  of  newspaper  enterprise,  one  no  more  reads 
on  the  editorial  pages  expressions  similiar  to  those  applied 
by  Horace  Greeley  to  Henry  J.  Raymond,  when  he  wrote  : 

"You  lie,  you  little  villain,  you  lie  !  " 

In  practical  methods  the  improvements  have  been  even 
more  marked  than  those  of  a  moral  and  educational  nature. 
In  1856,  the  Daily  Evening  News  at  Davenport  was,  for 
some  months,  struck  off  on  an  old-fashioned  hand- press. 
When  we  progressed  to  a  Guernsey  press,  with  a  Teuton  as 
the  motive  power,  we  thought  we  had  reached  the  limit  of 
progress. 

There  was  no  Associated  Press  in  the  West ;  there  was  no 
telegraph  news,  save  that  now  and  then  a  Chicago  newspaper 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  321 

of  exceptional  enterprise  would  order  a  short  dispatch  con- 
cerning some  event  like  the  declaration  of  war. 

The  transition  from  the  old  Franklin  lever  press  to  the 
* '  Inset ' '  —  which  is  the  latest  improvement  in  printing- 
presses  —  is  great.  This  is  first  of  all  notable  for  its  mam- 
moth dimensions.  It  requires  a  good-sized  building  for  its 
accommodation  alone.  Where  the  press  of  previous  years 
turned  out  a  printed  sheet  of  eight  pages,  the  perfected 
machine  prints  eight,  ten,  twelve,  sixteen,  twenty-four  or 
thirty-two  pages.  Its  capacity  is  enormous.  It  is  a  mon- 
ster of  towering  height,  with  whirling  wheels,  flying  levers, 
with  the  roar  of  a  Niagara,  and  whose  heavy  vibrations  set 
the  earth  in  a  quiver  for  blocks  around.  In  New  York, 
where  there  are  several  of  these  Titanic  machines,  their 
clamor  may  be  heard  for  half  a  mile,  and  the  buildings  for 
two  squares  around  the  offices  where  they  are  located  are 
shaken  from  foundation  to  cornice. 

I  well  remember  the  pride  with  which  we  put  into  the 
Times  an  intricate  system  of  speaking-tubes,  which  per- 
mitted an  employe  in  the  editorial,  composing  or  counting- 
room  to  communicate  with  any  of  the  other  departments. 
The  mouth-piece  at  the  editorial  desk  was  the  center  of  a 
web  which  ramified  through  all  the  departments. 

We  were  especially  pleased  with  our  enterprise  and  the 
novelty  of  the  contrivance  when  we  ran  from  the  Western 
Union  Telegraph  Company's  building,  a  block  away,  high 
up  through  the  air  to  the  room  of  the  telegraph  editor,  a 
pneumatic  tube,  through  which  the  dispatches  were  trans- 


322  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES  OF 

mitted  with  the  speed  of  light.  The  telephone  has  sup- 
planted the  speaking-tubes,  and  the  private  wire  has  taken 
the  place  of  the  pneumatic  tube. 

Instead  of  sending  matter  to  the  office  of  the  Western 
Union  Company,  and  thence  having  it  shot  through  the  air 
to  the  Times,  the  Washington  and  New  York  correspond- 
ents telegraph  their  matter  directly  to  the  room  in  the 
Times  office  where  it  is  to  be  prepared  for  the  printer. 

The  hot,  yellow,  malodorous  gas-lights  have  given  way 
in  the  composing-rooms  to  the  cool,  brilliant  arc  light  or  the 
mellow  radiance  of  the  incandescent  electric  lamp. 

In  a  majority  of  the  great  newspaper  offices  the  smear  of 
ink  and  Faber  have  disappeared,  and  in  their  place  has 
come  the  clean,  musically-clicking  typewriter.  No  more 
sputtering  pens,  no  more  breaking  of  points  or  sharpening 
of  pencils  ;  no  more  Horace  Greeley  manuscript ;  no  more 
excuses  for  the  blunders  of  proof-readers,  and  such  a  lessen- 
ing of  the  labor  of  the  compositor  as  to  greatly  increase  his 
comfort,  make  type-setting  a  positive  enjoyment,  and  greatly 
prolong  the  life  of  that  important  member  or  the  newspaper 
profession. 

The  clumsy,  old-fashioned  "turtle-backs  "  have  been  re- 
placed by  the  light,  clean-cut  stereotype  plates,  which  have 
the  advantages  of  great  rapidity,  multiplication  to  an  un- 
limited extent,  the  saving  of  type,  and  a  more  distinct  im- 
pression on  the  printed  page. 

The  antiquated,  laborious  and  sloppy  method  of  "  wet- 
ting-down ' '  paper,  by  which  process  much  time  was  con- 


THIRTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  JOURNALISM.  323 

sumed,  has  been  succeeded  by  the  modern  process  of  dry- 
printing,  by  which  much  more  artistic  results  are  produced. 
The  gigantic  labor  and  waste  of  time  once  involved  in  the 
cutting  of  the  paper  into  sheets  of  a  size  to  be  printed  has 
been  superseded  by  the  endless  roll.  The  modern  press 
takes  the  paper,  prints  both  sides  at  once,  folds  it,  and 
registers  the  number  printed. 

An  essential  agent  in  the  vast  improvement  of  the  press 
is  telegraphy.  In  the  earlier  days  of  journalism,  one  or 
two  papers  in  New  York  furnished  the  news  for  the  journals 
of  all  the  principal  cities  west  and  south.  The  news  column 
of  a  city  newspaper  outside  of  its  own  limits  depended  on 
the  scissors  for  its  information.  Things  that  happened  in 
New  York  were  known  in  their  detail  three  days  after  they 
occurred.  Kvents  transpiring  in  I^ondon  required  fifteen 
days  to  reach  Chicago.  Occurrences  happening  in  Central 
and  Southern  Europe  required  not  less  than  three  weeks  to 
cross  the  continent  to  the  metropolis  of  the  West.  North- 
ern Africa  furnished  intelligence  that  was  a  full  month  on 
its  passage.  Russia,  Siberia,  India,  Southern  Africa  only 
revealed  their  latest  doings  to  us  six  months  or  a  year  after 
they  had  happened. 

At  the  present  moment  there  is  no  point  in  civilization  — 
that  is,  any  place  not  a  desert  —  concerning  which  any 
development  of  importance  may  not  be  known  in  Chicago 
the  next  morning  at  the  very  latest. 

I  may  add  relative  to  my  personal  journalistic  experience 
that  three  of  my  published  books  are  the  direct  outgrowth  of 


324  PERSONAL  REMINISCENCES 

my  newspaper  connection.  Two  of  them,  ' '  Walks  About 
Chicago' '  and  * '  Sketches  Beyond  the  Sea, ' '  are  from  matter 
furnished  over  the  signature  of  ' '  Poliuto  ' '  in  the  Chicago 
Times,  and  "  Pen  and  Powder,"  also  over  the  same  signature, 
was  made  up  from  war  sketches  and  correspondence  pub- 
lished in  the  New  York  Times  over  the  nom  de  plume  of 
"Galway." 


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